Prompts for Oneshots
by lambroseforlife
Summary: "Storm and Silence" fanfiction: A collection of oneshot chapters from prompts suggested by the people on Tumblr. Prepare for some peculiar reads. Also posted on Wattpad and AO3.
1. Onto Something New

**"Anonymous asked: High school lambrose"**

 _ **Since this suggestion said "high school" and not "secondary", I'm just assuming that anon wanted this to take place somewhere in North America during a modern time period since there technically was no existence of "high school" in the 1800s.**_

* * *

"Ahhh." Lilly exhaled in relief when the car's engine shut off, parked at its destination. She stretched out her limbs, propping her feet on top of the dashboard, her battered black Converse high tops nearly scuffing the front window.

From her left, she felt a frosty glare burrow into her tanned legs, exposed by the pair of shorts she was wearing. A moment of cold silence passed before an equally icy tone filled the small space of the car — in her opinion, far more effective than the air conditioning system.

"Feet. Off. Now."

"Alright, alright." Lilly grumbled, complying at the command. She turned expectantly to the driver sitting next to her.

The car may have been a used one, but was recently purchased as a present to him from his parents shortly after he had passed the driving test and received his license. Their insistence to him that it was both a privilege and a responsibility to have a car was one that he held remarkably to utmost seriousness.

His sea-colored eyes reflected annoyance as he reached over in front of her to open the glovebox, pulling out a white cloth and rubbing at the area on the dashboard where her shoes had been. She glared at him.

"Oh, come on! I just threw these in the laundry last week." She protested, gesturing to her high tops.

He cast a distasteful glance downwards at her feet, clearly unconvinced at the sight of the faded, worn-down shoes before vigorously wiping down the dashboard for a few more seconds. He returned the cloth back to the glovebox and closed it, still not saying anything.

Lilly sighed. "Rick, live a little. We're supposed to be celebrating."

He finally broke the silence, raising a black eyebrow. "Celebrating what?"

"You know, finishing high school? Surviving eight _torturous_ hours of classes five days a week for the past four years?"

"Technically, we still haven't received our diplomas yet. Nor do we know our final grades for this semester." He pointed out coolly.

"Don't be a buzzkill. Graduation is tomorrow and I bet you aced all your exams like usual. I'll eat my shoes otherwise."

He snorted. "Very well, celebration it is then. Is that why you didn't want to go home yet?"

"Yep." She chirped. She opened the car door and stepped out, with Rick following suit.

They had just departed from an outing with the rest of their friends at the town's local diner. The place had been packed, with many of their other classmates there as well to feast for the occasion. To say the least, the diner would have stellar business for the night but also one hell of a cleanup job afterwards. Lilly decided she had socialized enough once the noise level had reached to a peak, enough to be headache-inducing. After promising to meet up with their group before and after tomorrow's ceremony, both she and Rick had left since he was her ride for the evening. Once they sat in his car, she told him that she wanted to make a quick stop at a particular place. He was surprised but nonetheless, silently obliged.

A gust of hot air blew in her face when she closed the car door. Grumbling, she pulled her hair back into a short ponytail using the hair tie around her wrist in a vain attempt to mitigate the frizz from the summer weather. Lilly could already feel the heat clinging to her skin and hear the mosquitos buzzing about in the humid air. She was thankful that she had remembered last minute to spray on repellant before leaving the house.

Rick locked the car before falling in step beside her. They said nothing as they trekked a short distance through the grass, finally sitting side-by-side on a concrete bench directly under a lamppost.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark track pants, speaking up.

"So…" Rick began. "Any particular reason you wanted come here?"

"Kinda." A deep crease settled by the corner of her frown while her nose scrunched. He recognized it as the expression she wore whenever she was lost in thought.

She continued. "I wanted to have some time to think among all this…craziness."

He waited for her to elaborate.

"I dunno. It just feels like everything happened so suddenly, you know? First it was college applications, then semester exams, then waiting on college acceptances, then club activities and dances, and then _even more_ _exams_. Now we're graduating tomorrow. Like, _bam_!" She clapped her hands for extra emphasis. "Where did all the time go this year?"

"You're right." He spoke quietly. "Things felt hectic."

"Exactly! And soon we're all supposed to be going off into the adult world. Don't get me wrong, I'm really excited. For starters, it'll be nice not having to ask for permission every time I want to go to the restroom." She rolled her eyes at the absurd concept. "But still, at the same time I don't feel ready having to say goodbye to all the friends I made. Meeting new people. Moving to a new environment by myself. Like I'm being thrown into this all at once and I'm so _damn_ sure that I'm going to screw up."

"Then screw up."

" _What_?" She turned her head to glare at him directly. "How could you say that?"

"Look," he explained calmly. "You've made mistakes before and you're going to make them again. Expecting to not make mistakes is, frankly, rather stupid. What matters is how you use those mistakes. You're going to meet all kinds of people, ones that you'll get along with and ones that you won't. And you being you, you'll probably make some really dumb decisions along the way too. But also being you, you'll reflect on that and learn from them. Life would be dull and boring without its challenges."

She stared at him, her dark brown eyes widened and her mouth slightly ajar.

His voice lowered. "Don't forget, you're not alone in all of this. We are in the same boat together and we both will do stupid things in the future. It's guaranteed to happen. But we are going to the same college and you know you can rely on me whenever you need it. I'll _always_ have your back, Lilly."

Her eyes were watery. "Have you considered switching your major to Philosophy instead?" She choked out, leaning forward to pull him in for a hug.

"Tempting, but I'll pass." He muttered into her ear as his arms wrapped around her.

Pulling away, the pads of his thumbs wiped at the moisture leaking out of her eyes. "I thought we were supposed to be celebrating?"

She coughed out a laugh, sniffling then hiccupping. "They're happy tears."

They sat back to their original positions, settling into a comfortable silence for several minutes.

Lilly raised her legs, bringing her feet on the bench and tucking her knees under her chin. While in her curled position, she stared ahead with her large brown eyes focused in the distance.

"Do you remember when we first met?" She slowly asked.

From the corner of her vision, she could see the teenage boy next to her shoot her an incredulous look.

"All I remember from our kindergarten days was you constantly ruining my finger paintings by smearing your grubby hands all over them."

"Good times." One corner of her mouth quirked up in a devilish smirk. "You used to cry for an hour afterwards."

"I did _not_." He scoffed. "Why are you asking me about our first meeting?"

"Because I don't remember," she confessed sheepishly. "So I was hoping that you did. But I do remember how we used to always hang out here at the park on weekends."

He chuckled. "Back when the biggest problems were who got to go down the slide first and use the shovel in the sandbox." His nodded in the direction of the playground out in the distance.

"Life used to be so much easier back then." Lilly frowned. "What happened?"

"Like with everything else, time happened." He simply said.

She pouted. "From the wise words of Einstein, 'time is an illusion.'"

"Technically it's freedom that is an illusion, not time."

She gave him a bland look. "Let's not argue about this again like last time."

They settled into comfortable silence once more. A few minutes passed until Lilly spoke up again.

"Rick?" She asked in a small voice, glancing sideways at him.

He met her gaze. "Yes, Lilly?"

"I, um, wanted to thank you. For all that you did for me during our senior year, especially at the beginning. It's because of you that I'm even able to participate tomorrow."

He stared at her, perplexed, and she elaborated.

"You know…the dress code incident."

Sometime during the start of the school year on a particularly warm day, Lilly had worn a red scoop neck blouse that had exposed her collarbone and partially her shoulders. Their widely unpopular school principal, Mr Ellingham, had spotted her during the lunch period and declared that she had violated student conduct for dress code rules. Despite Rick lending her his hoodie to cover up, Lilly had been written up for a two week suspension and sent home, with her privilege to walk at the graduation ceremony revoked. The official reason given had been stated as "insubordination", but it was obvious to Lilly that Mr Ellingham had never really liked her or her witty disposition from previous disputes — readily using the first available opportunity for his own subjective motivations.

To put it lightly, Rick was livid when he found out what had happened. As vice president of the student council, he had wasted no time in subtly spreading news of the incident. Within two days, the entire school had heard and was in a state of unrest. News had spread within the county and even out of state as well, all thanks to social media. When Rick had also informed his mother, she had taken direct action. As an active member of the school's parent-teacher association and a distinguished _generous_ patron of the school district, Samantha Genevieve Ambrose had wasted no time in bringing awareness among her extensive social circle, which included those on the town's council and newspaper staff.

By the time Lilly's suspension had ended and she was back in school, Rick had informed her that the school and the district had been on the receiving end for public complaints and anonymous threats for the overly harsh treatment towards an honor roll student with a clean record for no previous incidents of misconduct. A few months later, Mr Ellingham had resigned and had been replaced by Mrs Gibbons, an older, no-nonsense lady with a heart of gold. The new principal had been well-liked by the student body instantly, especially by Lilly for giving her a written formal apology on behalf of the school and clearance to participate in the graduation ceremony.

Understanding dawned on Rick's face as he recalled the whirlwind of overwhelming events from the year. "You don't need to thank me for that. I was just doing what any student council member– no, what any person with decent morals would have done."

"But still…you were the one that spoke up about it first and it means a lot to me. And also just for these past four years in general. I never got to say it properly but I really appreciate everything that you did. How much you looked out for me."

"Who are you and what have you done with the real Lilly Linton?" He squinted at her suspiciously.

She lightly punched him in the arm. "Don't ruin the moment, I'm trying to be nice here."

"Nice? I guess miracles really do happen."

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "Why are we best friends again?"

"I have no idea." His face was deadpan but his eyes sparkled with amusement. "You tell me."

She couldn't help but to roll her eyes.

"But thank you as well." He added seriously, with sincerity. "For being by my side during all these years, Lilly."

She looked at him for a moment then reached over and squeezed his hand, smiling up at him. Letting go, she abruptly stood up.

"Alright, let's go now. We've stayed long enough and the air here is making us both sappy. I need my beauty sleep for tomorrow anyway."

He rose from the bench and they left the park. They walked back to his car, her arm linked with his.

— — —

Rivulets of sweat trickled down Lilly's neck as she squinted up at the weathered brick building in front of her. Placing a tanned hand over her eyes to shield from the sun's harsh glare, she stared wistfully at the familiar black plaque letters above the main entrance

 **Empire High School** _._

She pulled her phone out from her small crossbody purse to glance at the time. _8:43 A.M._ , the brightly-lit screen displayed. She was early, all of the seniors were supposed to meet in the gymnasium by 9:30 in preparation to go over the ceremony procession order.

Lilly yawned, casting off any traces of sleepiness as her hand reached out and grabbed the metal handle of the door. It was unexpectedly hot, absorbent of the outside heat. She yelped and flinched, yanking the door open as fast as possible before slipping inside.

A cool gust of air hit her face, and she instinctively closed her eyes, reveling in the sensation of the air-conditioned interior of the school. A bittersweet feeling washed over her, knowing that it was the last time she had entered the place as a student. It had been a crucial part of her life for the past four years — with hours spent in the library fussing over chemistry notes, gossip exchanged in passing while going to lockers, lunch periods filled with comically absurd discussions, and after-school meetings reserved for dreaded group projects.

She walked through the maze of empty hallways, frowning when she could not spot another student in sight. She fiddled with the golden graduation cap pinned to her hair and adjusted the matching golden gown draped over her arm.

As she drew closer to the gym's entrance, she could hear laughter. A turn of the corner and she saw some of her classmates already in their attire, chattering animatedly with their friends and taking pictures. Some of them smiled in greeting and even waved when they noticed her, the dress code incident having made her more well-known among her peers. It was something that had bothered her at earlier in the year until she became used to it with time, learning to automatically smile and wave back.

"There she is!" A voice squealed excitedly.

A second later, something slammed into her. Hard. She wheezed and stumbled back, the breath knocked out of her lungs. She steadied herself, ready to give a piece of her mind to the person that had rudely crashed into her. Looking up, she saw who it was and her glare melted when she recognized the wildly grinning face of Eve Sanders.

She gave Lilly a slow once-over, nodding her head in approval. "Well, well, well. You look amazing if I do say so myself. That dress is gorgeous on you."

"Thanks." Lilly glanced down at the burgundy skirt of her dress that flowed to her knees. "The same goes for you too, Eve." She appraised the small bit of the white floral print dress peeking out from her unzipped graduation gown.

Her two other best friends, Patsy Cusack and Flora Milton emerged into view. They were fully attired in the golden graduation gown, cap and matching tassel assigned to all of the graduating females. Lilly gave them both a hug.

"We _have_ to take pictures." Flora insisted, taking out her phone. They posed for a few pictures until Eve asked them to wait.

"I have to keep fixing my hair." She complained, tugging at it. "The humidity outside made it all frizzy."

"I'm pretty sure the heat melted half of my makeup off already. I bet I can pass for a haunted wax doll after today." Lilly remarked.

"Ugh. Girls, girls! You're both pretty. Can I go home now?" Patsy quipped.

Eve and Lilly glared at Patsy.

"Children's movie quotes? How original." Lilly sarcastically commented.

It was Patsy's turn to glare this time, scowling at her.

Lilly turned and spotted an approaching familiar face in the distance. She went up to him.

"May I say," she said a sickly-sweet tone while fluttering her eyelashes, "that navy blue graduation gown really brings out the color of your eyes?"

Rick's face turned sour. "You absolutely may _not_. Speaking of graduation gowns, why aren't you wearing yours yet?"

She sighed. "It was too hot outside. Don't you feel it too? You're wearing two thick layers of dark colors." She nodded to the hem of his black dress pants peeking out from the bottom of his customary male blue graduation gown that nicely contrasted with her golden one, the two school colors in sync.

"The heat isn't as bad as you think. You're just being dramatic."

"Or you're obviously a robot." She mumbled under her breath.

"I _heard_ that."

A group of classmates approached him and he turned to speak with them. Shaking her head, Lilly headed back to her group of friends, putting on her gown and zipping it up. Together they headed to the gym, forced to separate into clusters based on the first letter of their last name.

What proceeded afterwards could only be described as boring, with her former history teacher, Mr Pearson, attempting to arrange the students in her group alphabetically and droning on in a monotonous tone for "appropriate presentation".

When they finally filed out of the gym and onto the athletic field an hour later, Lilly felt a short-lived sense of relief which quickly dissipated once she went out into the heat. The sun was unforgiving on all those trapped in its presence, the multitude of floppy hats and waving hand-held paper fans as tell-tale signs within the sea of people seated in plastic folding chairs on the field's trimmed grass.

The tones cut from a section of Elgar's _Pomp and Circumstance_ March No. 1 played as the typical designated graduation theme song while they stepped onto the grass. The groups of students walked in two separate lines down the center of the two halves of the group of chairs.

Ten minutes later and Lilly was internally screaming, still standing out in the sweltering sun while her group waited for their turn to be seated. She felt like she was turning into a baked potato from the heat, the square top of her graduation cap not wide enough to provide shade for her face. Under her graduation gown, she could feel her dress plastered to her skin from the sweat and her ears wanted to bleed from hearing the same music played on loop. She had seen Rick enter among the first of students and sit at the first row, as per the alphabetical order of last names.

When she was able to _finally_ enter an empty row of chairs and sit down, she passed the rest of the time waiting for the other seniors to be seated by perusing through the booklet of graduation ceremony agenda, a copy set on each empty chair. The last row of students sat down another thirty minutes later and Lilly let out a sigh, leaning back into her chair as the principal, Mrs Gibbons, opened the ceremony.

The rest of the event passed by without a hitch. Speeches were made by the selected speakers, both graduating seniors and favored faculty members. Heartfelt songs were performed by those from the music club, from their own original compositions. When the time came to bring the seniors forward to individually receive their diplomas, a hush fell through the crowd. The graduating students automatically straightened in their seats, ready for the moment that they had all been waiting for since the start of the year.

They were dismissed by rows, ascending to the stage one by one after their names were announced. When a " _Rikkard Ambrose_ " was called, people cheered for their vice president and Lilly jumped out of her chair, whooping excitedly, earning laughter from those around her. A certain boy, tall and lean with sea-colored eyes, saw her and shook his head in embarrassment as he stepped forward and accepted the embellished proof for something he had worked rigorously to achieve, with the aid of sheer willpower and countless hours of skipped sleep.

When the turn came for her row, she exhaled deeply, squaring her shoulders as she rose. She walked in line with the rest of her classmates to the stage, silently hoping that she wouldn't awkwardly trip. The stage's center drew closer and closer with each person in front of her called. Until finally…

" _Lillian Linton_."

Lilly felt as if she were in a dream as she stepped forward towards Mrs Gibbons, who held her diploma in an outstretched hand.

Cheering erupted from the crowd, people chanting her name. From her family, from her friends and everyone that had been sympathetic to her plight and supportive to her cause. Lilly couldn't help the tears that welled up in her eyes as she reached her principal, accepting the diploma and shaking her hand.

"Congratulations. You _earned_ it." The older lady smiled proudly at her and Lilly beamed back.

She posed for pictures on the side of stage with the other faculty, taken by a professional photographer hired by the school and then descended the stairs onto the grass, heading back to her row and sitting in her seat.

The rest of the procession passed by without a hitch and once the last row of students returned to their seats, Mrs Gibbons spoke to the crowd again.

"Will the graduating class please rise?"

They all did in perfect synchronization, Lilly's heartbeat hammering furiously in anticipation.

"For the final closing gesture, you all may now move your tassels from right to left as you all have now… _officially_ _graduated_!"

Thunderous cheering and roaring applause erupted from the crowd of attendees as the now-former students moved their tassels. Someone– Lilly did not know who– threw their graduation cap into the air, and the rest of her former classmates followed suit. Carefully unpinning her cap from her styled hair, she threw hers also– but not very high, as she wished to keep it as a memento.

The crowd began to scatter, as the new graduates wished to reunite with their families and their friends. People were crying and hugging, while others were laughing and cheering together. Lilly turned to head in the direction for her parents and sisters when she spotted a recognizable figure towering above the other graduates.

She pushed her way through the sea of gold and navy blue gowns, heading towards the person. When she finally reached him, he was facing away from her so she tugged on his gown's sleeve. He sharply turned around and upon recognizing her, he wordlessly pulled her to him.

They embraced each other fiercely for an immeasurable amount of time, her head tucked into his chest. In that moment, Lilly didn't care if her makeup got on his gown or that he was also sweaty as well. All she knew that in that very moment, both of them had shared something special together: that feeling of accomplishment when reaching a milestone.

They pulled away but still refused to let go of each other completely, their hands grasping onto each other's forearms. After staring at one another in disbelief, only then fully registering that they had just graduated high school, they both began to laugh.

Lilly let out a boisterous giggle while Rick just chuckled, a faint smile on his face while his broad shoulders shook. Their amusement died down eventually and they regarded each other with a look of understanding, recalling the previous night's conversation.

"Onto something new?" He asked, and she nodded in confirmation.

"Onto something new."

* * *

 ** _Hello, these are some oneshots I'm posting here from my Tumblr fanblog from asks that people send me for writing suggestions. The prompt suggestion will be written at the top of every chapter in_ bold font _. If you're interested in sending me a prompt suggestion for a oneshot to write, my Tumblr is lambroseforlife. If you don't have a Tumblr account, then that's alright. You can still send me one if you go to my blog and click on the "Indeed? (Ask)". It will just be seen as an anonymous ask. (Just no really weird NSFW asks please, I will ignore those!)_**

 ** _Is Rikkard OOC in this chapter here? You bet. I always imagine his younger self as being nicer like how Lady Samantha mentioned in Silence Breaking before he left home (you'll know this quite well if you read my other fanfiction, Manor of Memories). And yes, I know I could have used this prompt to go in a different direction such as going with the whole "bad boy meets feisty girl" cliche. But I felt inspired to write something more realistic and coming-of-age despite being platonic._**

 ** _On another note, the dress code incident that was discussed was actually based off of an actual event that a high school senior experienced in Charlotte, North Carolina back in spring 2017. In regards to controversies over dress code policies, it's become more outspoken as an issue within the past year in America._**


	2. An Alternative Path

**"lilylintonandrickforever asked: Hey! I'd like to see what would've happened if Lily wanted to be with James Carter in silence is breaking, you know the chapter when he wanted her to marry him"**

 **"Anonymous asked: If lily chose carter when he asked her to marry him"**

 _ **This prompt pretty much goes against my username but hey, people need to be pushed out of their writing comfort zone for improvement, right? So here we go. This is written in first-person POV and set in the same canon universe with a timeline that diverges from Silence Breaking, Chapter 25: "Romance in the Air".**_

 _ **WARNING: Hardcore lambrose shippers or those who haven't Silence Breaking yet and want to avoid spoilers, DON'T read this oneshot!**_

 _ ****DISCLAIMER: The text below in**_ **all bold font** _ **is from the main series and NOT my writing. The beginning contains an excerpt taken from Silence Breaking,Chapter 25 and I used a quote later on from Storm and Silence, Chapter 69: "Seeing Stars". Both were written by Robert Thier. I do NOT claim credit for them at all and am incorporating it merely for the purpose of transitioning/recap into this canon divergence oneshot****_

* * *

' **Miss Lillian Linton, I love you. I love your fiery spirit. I love the way you dance and laugh and live to the full, and always fight for what you believe in. Will you—'**

'— **marry me?' I guessed.**

' **Bloody hell, that was supposed to be my proposal!'**

 **I smiled up at him apologetically. 'Sorry.'**

 **Silence stretched between us. I gazed up into his face, the face of one of my best friends in all the world, and wondered how things had come to this? How had I not seen this in him before that day in Newcastle? How could I have missed it?**

' **Well?' he asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. 'Will you?'**

I bit my lip, trying to find the right words to say. Blast! How did one reject a proposal from someone they were quite fond of?

My mouth opened to speak.

And closed.

Damn it! Why was it so hard to tell him no? The romance novels that my sisters read made it look simple. Reject the roguish suitor maliciously pining for the heroine's affections. There, problem solved.

So why wasn't it working here?

Captain Carter looked at me expectantly, still waiting for my answer. The heat emanating from his hand burned into mine. That must have been the reason my ears suddenly tinged red.

'Captain Carter, I…'

I hesitated.

 _Do it, Lilly! Turn down his proposal now! With a firm, resounding "no"!_

But he looked so sincere. His warm brown eyes created a snug, comfortable shelter that enveloped us. One that even the biting cold couldn't pierce through.

 _Just tell him how you feel already! What are you waiting for?_

Therein lay the problem.

How did I feel about him?

Did I love Captain James Carter? No. I knew that I definitely didn't. But…

I possibly could with time. In a different universe, in different circumstances and under different rules.

But why couldn't that be in this one?

'Miss Linton?' My eyes focused back on Captain Carter. His voice sounded alarmed. His other hand reached out and gently clasped my chin, lifting it.

'Are you unwell?' Yes, definitely alarm. 'Should we head back instead? We can resume this later if you need more time to give me an answer.'

'Please, I am all right.' Did the soft, breathless voice really belong to me? 'There is much I wish to say, but I am unsure of where to begin.'

'Are you sure you are not ill?' Concern shone in his eyes.

'I am sure. Please, I need a minute to gather my thoughts.'

Did I say "please" twice? Dear me, the cold must have affected my brain.

'Very well.' He frowned and released his hands, taking a step back. 'Take all the time you need.'

A roguish suitor with charm and manners? My, this was more difficult than I expected.

An unbidden thought crossed my mind. Maybe he wasn't confined to be just the roguish suitor.

Perhaps he was meant to be more.

 _Are you insane_? My inner voice screamed at me. _What about a certain cold employer that you have been clandestinely conducting an affair with for the past year_?

And there presented itself another teeny, tiny problem. Clandestine as in secretive. Ergo, no one would ever know about Mr Ambrose and I. We were polar opposites from two completely different worlds.

Maybe his path and mine could never completely overlap. Touch, yes. But how long could ice and fire remain intact when in contact?

The answer was simple. Not for very long.

He was a chauvinist. And I a feminist. He represented everything I believed against and I the same for him.

 _But he still hired you. Protected you. Trusted you. Maybe even lov_ —

I clamped down on that thought. Working for him hadn't been easy, regardless. More like painstakingly challenging. Gruelling. It had been quite the experience.

 _Is that good or bad_?

Both.

But back to the matter at hand. What was it again?

Oh, right. Captain Carter's proposal.

Why couldn't I say no?

Maybe it was because, deep down, I already knew. He was someone who wholeheartedly accepted me. Openly embraced how I was without question. With him, there were no disguises, no alter egos involved. With him, I could be myself. Rejecting him would be throwing away a golden opportunity for an easy and happy life.

 _Easy, yes. But happy? You could be happy with someone else. A certain obnoxiously rich miser…_

Who kept his wallet and probably his heart stuffed up that his firm derrière of his. That very one?

 _Aren't you supposed to be a feminist? Considering marriage over your career? Where is your sense of dignity as an independent, hard-working woman?_

Still with me and completely intact, thank you very much!

Marriage over my job? That sounded counter-intuitive in regards to what I valued the most.

My freedom. My independence.

But was I really free and independent while working for Mr Ambrose?

He expected complete submission from all his employees. And I was no exception. He made it clear that for him, money came first. Always. He was driven by profits, sales and all matters centreing on monetary gain. Mammon forbid anything come in between him and his precious purse, let alone taxes or strange urges for romantic affection to a woman.

' **Oh you'll have money…you still won't be free, though.'** I recalled his words from a drunken night in his office long ago. **'Just like in marriage, you'll still be tied to a man— to me.'**

I scowled. Working for him would be no different than being married to him. He would demand obedience from anyone tied to him as long as it involved a contract.

Wait. What?

Marriage? With Mr Ambrose? Why was I thinking about him when another man had proposed to me barely minutes ago? Even with said man still patiently waiting for my response?

 _Because you're in love with Rikkard Ambrose_.

Stupid inner voice of mine! Couldn't it shut up for two minutes while I tried to think?

Silence.

Ah, much better. Now back to my previous thought.

Plausibly, if Mr Ambrose were to ever take leave of his senses and fully reciprocate my feelings for him, one of two things would happen.

One: Carry on as if nothing changed. Our dalliances would continue behind closed doors and in the dark. While our outward appearance of boss and secretary resumed during business hours and in public.

Two: Propose marriage to me.

The first option didn't sound so bad until recently. Our relationship had changed since the other guests arrived at Battlewood. Frighteningly, not for the better. It felt like we were caught in a cat-and-mouse situation. Constantly exchanging roles in a battle for power.

Was it normal to not trust the person you love?

Until coming to Battlewood, I had trusted Mr Ambrose unconditionally. We'd had each others backs in France, in the sand-ridden desert, and in the war-ridden jungles of South America. I trusted him with my life. He trusted me with his. Otherwise, we wouldn't have survived.

But could I trust him with my heart?

I wasn't so sure anymore. Ever since Captain Carter's arrival, he had shown a more…violent side of himself. But not completely in the physical sense. Since Newcastle, something dark and intense festered away inside him. Something more terrifying than thrilling. I could be sitting next to him but he still would be miles away. Unreachable. Impenetrable. Cased inside that stone mask he wore.

Jealousy and isolation were two weapons he wielded well. Even better than the revolver on his holster. He staked a claim on me, not allowing other men to approach me while he let other women flirt with him freely, even reciprocating at times. The memory of his hypocrisy was enough to drive ice through my veins.

I had tried to reach through to him, to explain. But he wouldn't listen. He was too stubborn and hard-headed. Thus, I had been forced to resort to more drastic measures. All to ensure the dear captain's safety. I had attempted to use Mr Ambrose's strategy: conduct a business transaction of sorts. But he had proven his vast experience. Once again, he was the calculating feline and I the outwitted prey.

Suppose that in the highly unlikely, extremely bizarre occurrence (even in an imaginary situation) that Mr Ambrose chose the second option, proposing matrimony. What then? Our relationship would still unlikely improve. Marriage was a certified way for men to obtain power on par with that of monarchs. Wives were their subjects, duly vulnerable to being tyrannised and subjugated to a husband's will. In stories that my friends had told me, some were even physically beaten.

If Mr Ambrose was this restrictive already, then how much worse would he be if I were to marry him?

A harrowing chill settled to my very bones.

I knew that Mr Ambrose was never the type to raise his hand to a female. But that didn't exclude other ways he could control others. A powerful man like him thrived on dominance and authority. For him, marriage would be perceived as a way to exercise that. The standard wedding vows required a wife to pledge submission and obedience to her husband at the altar. Vows that I refused to agree with.

Vows that Mr Ambrose would definitely enforce, seeing it as the terms outlined for a contract.

 _Isn't he doing that already? You are one of his employees, contracted to him._

Yes, but I had willingly done so, seeing it as trade for a salary. An earning that would grant me the freedom I craved. Anytime I wished to do so, I could resign from my job. I was only legally bound during the period of employment. Marriage on the other hand…

Marriage was permanent. In sickness and in health. For better or for worse. Until death.

However if he loved me enough to propose…

Then he wouldn't dare to demand from me. Not if he valued his head intact!

But then again…

Would it really be a surprise if he did? Considering his recent disregard towards everything I had said to him?

Probably not.

Knowing him, he wouldn't even bother to propose properly. Oh no, that would be an utter waste of time for Mister "knowledge is power is time is money" Ambrose. He would most likely order for my hand in marriage and automatically expect a "yes, sir!"

My nostrils flared. Why was it that only now, after working for the blasted miser for almost a year and a half, that I realised how trapped I was?

 _Perhaps_ , that nasty inner voice of mine whispered vindictively, _because another alternative has presented itself._

I had viewed money as a means to earn my freedom. To be financially independent from my aunt and uncle without being restrained by another man. Only in the process to lose both myself and all possibility of obtaining it once I had fallen for a man who was the paragon of control.

And now, it seemed that I had a slim chance of obtaining my freedom again. In the one way that I had deemed as being the most restrictive.

The irony made me smile humourlessly.

I loved Rikkard Ambrose, I really did.

But what was more important, my heart or my soul?

I couldn't keep both. One had to be sacrificed.

If I rejected Captain Carter, then inevitably I would choose Mr Ambrose. Eventually, I would lose my soul, my morals and all that I had fought for. With Mr Ambrose, I might be happy for a short while. But I couldn't be myself. I would be a bird ensnared in a cage for the rest of my life.

If I chose Captain Carter, then I would reject Mr Ambrose. My heart would be broken and with it, the capacity to love someone again wholly. It would be a burden to the good captain, having to pick up the pieces for someone who didn't reciprocate his love. A kind person like him didn't deserve to be second place to a memory.

I sighed.

"Well?" The captain's voice drifted over from the grove of trees. He was leaning against one of them, the back of his bright red military coat facing me. "Have you gathered your thoughts, Miss Linton?"

"Um, yes." I looked down.

Polished black boots entered my vision and I looked up to see Captain Carter approaching me.

'There's someone else, isn't there?'

I instantly knew what he meant.

'Yes. And no.'

'I beg your pardon, Miss Linton?' His brow furrowed.

'There…is someone else.' His face fell. 'But…'

'But?'

'Even though he is what I wanted, I'm…not sure if he is what I need now.'

His eyes narrowed. 'Did he do something bad? Has he hurt you?' He took my hands into his again.

'No. No, he hasn't but…' I trailed off, shaking my head.

 _At least not physically._

He squeezed my hands gently and a painful sensation tugged at my heart. On cue, something slipped out of my eye and slid down my cheek. Another. And another.

If I had thought that Captain Carter was alarmed before, then it was nothing compared to his expression now. Releasing my hands, he reached into his trouser pocket and tugged. He silently pulled out a handkerchief and held it out to me.

'Thank you.' I accepted it.

Wiping my face, I looked at him again while clutching the damp cloth. 'I apologise. After you asked your question, I had a revelation of sorts. A painful one.'

He waited for me to continue.

'I realised someone who I have feelings for, that he and I may not belong together.'

'Why is that?' He was solemn.

'We always argue. And hurt each other. Even from the start, we didn't exactly get along. I…' I took a deep breath. 'Loving him is painful. I don't know if I can anymore.'

Captain Carter took a step forward. He was standing merely inches away, those sincere, brown eyes of his boring downwards into my own.

'You deserve better.'

I met his gaze head-on, refusing to look away.

'Can you offer me better?' My voice trembled.

'I don't know,' he whispered. 'But all I know that is that I would spend my entire life trying, Lilly. If you would permit me.'

'I don't love you like you love me.'

'I have enough love to carry the both of us.'

'I'm a feminist.'

'One of my favourite things about you.'

'I don't want to be an appendage to a man.'

'And you won't. Not to me. We will be equal partners supporting each other.'

'I _refuse_ to agree to the obedience and submission part of the wedding vows.'

'Then I'll have the priest exclude them.'

I gaped at him in shock. 'Really? You would do that for me?'

'I would.' His lips curved into one of his old smiles that I knew and enjoyed so much. 'Just for you.'

'I love travelling.' A hint of amusement tinged my voice. 'Would you bring me along on your military expeditions?'

'Yes. Except for the most dangerous ones.'

I stared as he dropped to one knee. With one hand, he withdrew a ring from his pocket and took hold of my left hand using the other.

'Miss Lillian Linton…will you do me the immense honour of becoming my wife?'

I swallowed, hard, and softly uttered the dreaded word that would change everything forever.

'Yes.'

He slipped the simple gold band onto my ring finger. It was a bit tight but still managed to fit.

He brought my hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss on the back. With an expression that could only be described as smitten, unwavering adoration, he looked up at me.

I tried to smile. I honestly did. But my lips only twitched upwards.

Captain Carter stood up and pulled me into a warm embrace. My arms wrapped around him numbly. My heart hammered nervously in my ears. He must have asked me something and expected a response for in the next moment, he pulled away with a questioning look.

He opened his mouth to speak and—

'Am I interrupting something?'

A horribly familiar voice cut through the air. Sharp and curt. Dread crawled up my spine.

A tall, menacing figure appeared into view from behind the trees. I looked at the ground. The tree branches. Anywhere but him.

Captain Carter spoke up. 'As a matter of fact, yes.'

'Indeed?' I had never heard that word spoken with so much hostility. Not until now.

'I was speaking with my future wife here. Is there something you need?'

'Yes. I need Miss Linton's help to locate her brother for a _business_ discussion.'

'I can help you find him.' I looked up at Captain Carter only, refusing to make eye contact with _him_. I could feel _his_ wintry gaze boring into me. It sent chills throughout my body. 'May I take my leave for now?'

'Of, course. I'll head back to the manor and inform everyone of the good news.'

Oh, right. The good news of my recent engagement.

Blast!

He brought my hand— the one with the sparkly gold band on it— to his lips and pressed another kiss to it.

If the air had been frozen before, then it was positively frigid now. Knots of terrible foreboding built in my stomach. However, the captain didn't detect anything and with an 'Until later, my love,' departed into the distance.

' _My love_?' I risked a glance up at _him_ to see a pair of hands pounce towards me. The next moment I was picked up by my shoulders. My back slammed with impact against one of the trees. His hands released me, only to curl into fists that rested on each side of my head, preventing any escape.

Shivering, I gazed up into his dark, sea-coloured eyes. Eyes that reflected rage. Confusion.

Betrayal.

'What was _that_?' His voice carried the force of a thousand hydras, hellbent on destruction.

'I-I'm guessing you heard?' Crap! Why was my voice so squeaky?

He leaned in, pinning me in place with his deadly stare. 'Every. Single. _Word_.'

I gulped. 'Then I don't need to say anything.'

'I couldn't disagree more. You owe me an explanation, Mr Linton.'

'I don't owe you anything. Except a resignation letter.' I struggled to keep my voice steady. My breath came out in pants.

A storm roiled in those terrifyingly beautiful eyes of his.

'You are _mine_. You aren't going anywhere without my permission.'

He lunged forward and instinctively, I knew what he was going to do. Panic surged through me.

On reflex, my hand moved of its own accord.

Before his lips could make contact with mine, I slapped his cheek. The sound echoed throughout the trees.

He stumbled back in surprise. His hard hand reached up to graze the area where an angry red handprint was now forming.

Silence reigned.

After a long time, he finally spoke.

'Just tell me why. Why you chose _him_.'

Was his voice hoarse?

'Because of you,' I whispered. Moisture clouded my vision. 'I wanted my freedom.'

' _Me_?' His jaw tightened. 'Explain to me, Mr Linton, how running from one man into the arms of another grants you the freedom that you speak of. I fail to see the effectiveness.'

'You were restricting me. Treating me like one of your possessions. To you, I'm a rare creature meant to be put into a cage. But that's not who I am.'

'And where does the captain factor into all this?'

'He…understands me. Maybe not completely. But what you want to control of me, he accepts. Openly.'

Silence. His pinkie twitched in a steady rhythm.

I continued. 'The matter came to choosing between me and you. Like you, I decided to be selfish for once. So I chose me. Since you wouldn't.'

He still said nothing.

'It's too late, Mr Ambrose. I've made my choice.'

'This,' he said, his voice promising retribution from the deepest Arctic tundras in the coldest of winters, 'this is _not_ over, Mr Linton.'

He whirled around and marched away, his hands clenched into fists. In the process, ripping my heart out and stealing it with him as I knew he would.

I slumped against the tree.

But it was over.

 _He just didn't realise it yet._

* * *

 ** _Well, I hope you were able to make it until the end to read it. I did my best to channel book 1 Lilly's thought process for this prompt. I hope she isn't too out of character here but then again, her choosing Carter is an action out of character itself in regards to the entire series. And one not without drastic effects._**

 ** _Wondering why this had such an angsty ending and not a happy one? Well, keep in mind of how possessive Mr Ambrose's character was presented as in Silence Breaking. I wanted to stay consistent to that for this prompt._**

 ** _We already read how he tried to have Carter added to the waste disposal list and had Karim "guard" Lilly before Carter even proposed to her all out of his own fear. We even saw what he did to Captain Carter despite Lilly rejecting his proposal in Chapter 27. So riddle me this, what do you think Mr Ambrose would have ultimately done if Lilly had said yes instead? I will leave that to the worst of your imaginations._**

 ** _Hardcore lambrose shippers, please don't hate me for this. I just tried to answer this prompt to the best of my abilities. Writing this was quite challenging for me, both mentally and emotionally, so I imagine it must be the same, if not worse for some of you readers as well. At the very least, I hope that I did some justice to this prompt._**


	3. Corpses Conceal Clues (Part 1)

**"ntlpurpolia asked: writing prompt: one shot of Lilly and Ambrose solving a murder where she figures out who the murderer is before he does"**

 _ **Wow, my apologies for how delayed this update is. This prompt took planning and research. Not to mention, I also had exams and applications to finish while being sick all at the same time. Anyway, here you go! This is a detective AU that takes place sometime around the mid-20th century (~1940s-50s). This is a pretty LONG read compared to my previous works so I decided to split this prompt into two parts.**_

* * *

 _Riiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiing._

"Hello, this is Empire Investigations. How may we be of service? ….Yes …Yes ….Of course. Why definitely, right away." _Click._

 _Knock. Knock._

"Mr Ambrose?"

"What is it, Miss Linton?"

"It's a call from the police station. They said a new civilian case came in. One that they want our help for."

"We are currently _busy_. Did you complete the report for the last case?"

"Yes I did, sir. They said that this new case involved a murder."

Silence.

"They also said that the client would be willing to pay double for any third-party investigators involved. Provided that the culprit is found."

The sound of footsteps echoed throughout the cramped office and a moment later, a door opened.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Miss Linton? Let's go! We have no time to waste."

* * *

New Scotland Yard was in a state that could best be described as utter clamour. Once the two detectives were granted access inside the North building, they were met with an all too familiar sight for a typical evening at the compound. Phones rang persistently, multiple conversations overlapped over one another and uniformed officers bustled throughout the vicinity.

"Mr Ambrose, Miss Linton." The front desk receptionist greeted, her auburn curls bouncing as she nodded to them both. "Inspector Dalgliesh has been expecting you both. He's waiting in his office."

They proceeded several floors above to the directed location and stood outside the glass-panelled door. Miss Linton paused, about to knock before entering when her boss opened the door and marched in without preamble. She blinked before following.

"Ah, welcome. I trust that my message was delivered then?" The blond, uniformed officer looked up from the pile of papers on his desk at them both, steel-blue eyes twinkling in amusement.

"Effectively." Mr Ambrose glanced pointedly at the young woman standing next to him.

The Inspector's eyes followed his and a radiant smile appeared. "Miss Linton! How lovely it is to see you again."

"Cut the pleasantries, Dalgliesh." Mr Ambrose all but growled. "What case is so difficult that you had to resort to hiring outside detectives with persuasion of monetary incentives?"

"Incentives that seemed to work nonetheless. And that's Inspector Dalgliesh to you, my old friend." All amusement vanished and his tone instantly took on a serious edge.

"No less than a few hours ago, close to seven o'clock, a Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald was found dead in room forty-five on the third floor of a hotel called _The Sleeping Siren_. Her husband had received a note to meet her there and when he did, he discovered her bloody corpse sprawled across the bed."

Reaching into a file laid out in front of him, he pulled out some papers and set it down on the edge of the table for them. Upon closer inspection, Miss Linton realised that they were photographs. They were of grainy and somewhat faded quality but surprisingly they were in colour, unlike typical black-and-white ones. Taken from various angles, they clearly showed a young woman lying on a patterned bedspread. Her doe-shaped eyes were bugged out and delicate mouth ajar, a telltale sign that her last moments were spent in horrified shock. Her pointed chin and angular jaw were marred with angry red blisters, the same shade as her rouge-painted lips— but it was her slender neck that was grotesquely disfigured. The remaining skin at her throat was mottled purple, bloodied and torn, ripped apart as if it were frantically clawed at. As a result, bone and tissue underneath was also exposed, revealed for all to see.

In response, Miss Linton's gaze automatically trailed down to the corpse's hands which, sure enough, were clad in leather gloves that appeared to be coated with blood at the fingertips. Speckles of blood were on the victim's tailored white princess-cut coat that looked rather expensive. Black tweed pants peeked out from under the hem and trailed down to meet a pair of shiny, suede flats.

Miss Linton snuck a sidewards glance at her employer who was still studying the pictures, his blank expression betraying no emotion. She looked up to the see the Inspector staring at them both, his hawk-like gaze intense.

"Naturally, he reacted as any other devoted husband would. Or so from what the hotel staff informed us. He bolted from the room, yelling for help. A staff member heard and upon seeing Mrs Fitzgerald's body, immediately had someone call us. It caused quite the ruckus and in addition, Mr Fitzgerald's gardener, Edgar Stone, was also discovered to be present near the scene. From what we have been able to find out so far, he was also inside the hotel for an unknown reason. He is currently being detained there for questioning."

He paused and Miss Linton jumped in. "If the police is already involved, then why were we also called here too?"

He met her gaze levelly. "I was getting to that, Miss Linton. Mr Fitzgerald is convinced that his gardener was involved some way in all of this. Adamantly insists that he is the culprit, actually. But that doesn't eliminate him as a suspect either. Nonetheless, Mr Fitzgerald is quite the wealthy man and demanded for additional investigators to be assigned to the case. Promised that he would compensate warmly for the effort _given_ that the true culprit is proven guilty."

He looked down as he began to rearrange his papers. Folding his hands together, he returned his attention to the two individuals in front of him. "And that's where you both come in. Your agency has a singular reputation with its track record and experience in solving cases." His gaze lingered on the tall man, steel blue eyes drilling into sea-coloured ones. "Your presence here confirms that you have chosen to accept the case, but I need verbal agreement as well. Are you two up for this?"

"Yes." Mr Ambrose and Miss Linton firmly stated at the same time.

"Good. Then let's go to the crime scene."

* * *

Despite Miss Linton's prior experiences on dealing with a few murder cases, the goosebumps that settled in her skin upon registering the smell of death was an instinctual reaction that somehow still refused to diminish with time.

Room forty-five of _The Sleeping Siren_ was left in a state of shambles. It appeared that the place had been torn asunder, as if a miniature storm had paid a visit. A few framed paintings were thrown about on the dusty hotel carpet, joined by clusters of glass shards from what formerly appeared to be a vase— evidenced by the paraffin-coated wax comprising the scattered bouquet of fake flowers.

A plastic sheet covered the former Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald while uniformed members of the forensic investigative team flitted about the room, each dedicated to their own assigned tasks. Miss Linton stepped forward, about to lift the covering over the corpse when one of the officers spoke up.

"Miss, we request that you refrain from touching anything at the moment. We are still gathering evidence and need minimal contact as possible."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." She looked around to see that the other members were all wearing rubber gloves. She noticed that some appeared to be collecting samples while others were dusting a powdered substance over different surfaces.

"That's for finding fingerprints, right?" Miss Linton asked Mr Ambrose, indicating with her chin.

"Yes." He answered. He turned to Inspector Dalgliesh, who was next to him. "There's no point in standing around here waiting for them to finish. Take us to the key witnesses."

"Valid point." He led them out of the room. "With whom do you wish to speak to first?"

Ten minutes later, Miss Linton and Mr Ambrose were seated in the staff break room located on the ground floor— used as a makeshift interrogation room for the time being. In front of them sat a small, balding man with a round face. Miss Linton suspected that he was the type to usually maintain a cheerful disposition save for the current occasion. He was quivering as he blew his nose loudly into a crumpled handkerchief.

"W-What may I do for you?" His big eyes shone with tears.

"I am Mr Ambrose and this is Miss Linton. A ' _Morton Fitzgerald_ ' requested for additional investigators to be assigned to the case regarding the death of Caroline Fitzgerald. I'm guessing that is you?" Mr Ambrose's eyes bored into the smaller man sitting across the wobbly wooden table.

"Y-Yes?" Mr Fitzgerald's eyes began to shine with fear as they darted back and forth between the two people facing him.

Miss Linton decided to interject, clearing her throat. "Mr Fitzgerald, we are the extra investigators that you asked for. We just wanted to ask you a few questions. I know that a lot has happened here tonight and we are as intent as you seem to be on finding your wife's killer. Why don't you tell us about what happened here tonight from your perspective?"

He seemed to relax slightly at Miss Linton's gentle tone. Sighing, he clasped his hands together. "Well, this afternoon when I was on my lunch break, I was surprised to see that Caroline had left a note for me in my lunchbox asking me to meet her here after work."

"Do you still have the note?" Mr Ambrose interrupted him.

The short man looked at him warily. "I did but the officers took it with them when they questioned me earlier."

"Very well then. Continue."

"To be more specific, the note had told me to meet her in this hotel in room forty-five at seven pm with no other explanation given. I was surprised that she wanted to meet outside in some random, cheap hotel given her recent state."

"Her recent state? What do you mean by that?" Miss Linton asked him.

"Since last week, she had caught a cold. Her health has always been rather delicate and from the winter air, she's had a recurring fever."

"Was she behaving strangely prior to today? Any odd behaviours?" She pressed.

"None that I could think of." His lips turned downwards.

Miss Linton was busy writing down her notes when she thought of another question. "This is more of a personal question but what was your marriage with your wife like?"

"An amazing one. We met two years ago and I was immediately smitten from the first time I saw her. I proposed marriage to her a few weeks later on a whim expecting rejection. Imagine my surprise when she accepted it. I've been a lucky man to marry the woman of my dreams only to see her taken away from me today." Tears slid out of his closed eyes.

"We've sidetracked from the main question." Mr Ambrose deadpanned, side-eyeing Miss Linton. "What happened after you saw the note?"

"I put it in my trouser pocket and went back to work as usual. When work finished at six, I went home to drop off my things and sure enough, Caroline was not there. I found a cabbie that knew where this hotel was since I had never heard of it. The driver dropped me off in front of the entrance and I headed inside. I asked the receptionist for directions and then took the lift to the third level. I found room forty-five immediately and knocked on the door. There was no response so I knocked again and called out Caroline's name. Still no response. I checked my watch to make sure I was on time and it was seven o'clock on the dot. So then I decided to open the door only to witness the worst sight of my life. My beloved wife lying dead on the hotel bed."

He blew his nose again as he sobbed. After a minute he calmed down enough to speak again.

"Naturally after I had registered what happened, I ran from the room yelling for help. A cleaning maid nearby heard me and when she entered the room, she ran out immediately and called the receptionist. He came up shortly, saw Caroline, and called the manager to dial the police."

The two detectives listened with apt diligence, multitasking as they continued to jot down notes. Miss Linton decided to press for more details.

"Apparently your gardener, Mr Edgar Stone, was found here too? What can you tell me about that?"

Mr Fitzgerald's face instantly morphed into one of anger when he heard the name.

"That—! That no-good, lowdown scum! I'm telling you, he's behind it all! He must have murdered my Caroline! Who else could it have been?"

"Did you see it happen?" Mr Ambrose asked him.

"What?"

"Your claim that your gardener murdered your wife. _Did you see it happen_?"

"Well no, but—"

"Then how can you say that without definite proof?"

Bold red splotches appeared on Mr Fitzgerald's already ruddy cheeks. "Now see here, Mr Ambrose. It's under my demand that you're even here in the first place. Without _my_ say, you won't even get the money that I'm offering if _you_ can't find the murderer."

Mr Ambrose opened his mouth to retort when his employee jumped in.

"We are grateful for your graciousness, Mr Fitzgerald. We really are." Miss Linton threw a warning glare at the man sitting next to her. "That reminds me of another question I had. Considering your eager willingness to give a generous reward, I'm assuming that you have a well-paying job. Where do you work?"

"Not as well-paying as I would like, Miss Linton." He sighed dismissively. "I merely work as a salesman for an insurance company. However, I'm lucky that I'm an only child. My father was a wealthy man and when he passed away, most of his assets went directly to me, including his estate."

"I see." Miss Linton scribbled more notes. "That will be all the questions from my end. Do you have any more for Mr Fitzgerald, Mr Ambrose?"

Silence.

"Alright, then that concludes our time together. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Fitzgerald. I assure you we will do our best to find the culprit."

* * *

"Let's go back to the crime scene. The forensics team should be almost done about now."

True enough to Mr Ambrose's words, they were. They appeared to be gathering bags to collect items.

"Wait," he told them. "Miss Linton and I wish to investigate the room."

"But we're almost done," a man Miss Linton assumed as the leader of the team protested. "We can't afford any delays in analysis."

Mr Ambrose gave him a look.

"Well on second thought, I suppose that it would help to have more pairs of investigative eyes."

Mr Ambrose ignored him. "We need gloves."

Someone from the team complied and handed a pair to both Mr Ambrose and Miss Linton.

Mr Ambrose marched over to the body and promptly lifted the covering. "Now Miss Linton, what can you tell me when you look at Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald?"

She stepped closer and stood next to him. "Hmmm…compared to the pictures that the Inspector showed us, the number of blisters on her jawline have increased and some of the skin tissue has undergone degradation. In addition, the region on her neck seems to be more decayed. More of her windpipe appears to be visible with some of the bone corroded."

"What else can you tell me?"

"Her posture appears to be slightly more stiff so I would guess that rigor mortis has begun to set in. Mr Fitzgerald told us that he was here at seven pm so I'm estimating she died shortly before his arrival."

"And what more?"

"Hmmm…wait! What's this?" Something peeked out of one of the alabaster coat's pockets. Miss Linton reached forward and slowly pulled out a patterned scarf. As she did so, something else tumbled out onto the bed.

"A silk scarf and a pair of sunglasses. Interesting."

"Maybe for the cold weather?"

"Perhaps. Does anything else stand out to you?"

She shook her head and frowned. "Am I missing something?"

"Look at her hands."

"But they're covered by bloodied leather glov— oh!"

She looked at him and he nodded while glancing pointedly at his own rubber glove-clad hands. Why had Mrs Fitzgerald not taken off her gloves when she was inside the room? At first glance, it would have seemed she left them on since she was sick but Miss Linton thought it was still strange. She suspected there was something more. Something that probably had to do with why Mrs Fitzgerald had come to the hotel in the first place….

"We've looked at the body for long enough." Mr Ambrose's voice snapped Miss Linton out of her thoughts. "Time to inspect the rest of the room."

He carefully placed the covering over the body and stepped back. As he did, a small table next to the bed came into view and Miss Linton saw something that caught her eye.

"Why is there a glass here? Is this supposed to be wine?" She picked up the clear flute filled with golden liquid, inspecting it.

Mr Ambrose bent over and picked up something on the ground by the table. "I believe so. _Sauvignon Blanc_ , going by what this bottle says."

Miss Linton leaned closer, sniffing the flute and immediately recoiled.

"What the—? Is white wine supposed to smell this strong? It's overpowering like perfume!"

He also leaned over and cautiously took a whiff. "How unusual. This bottle is empty so there's nothing to compare the glass to. The rest of the wine must have spilt on the ground when the bottle fell. But to answer your question, Miss Linton, wine doesn't typically smell this…overbearing. This wine also appears to be a few shades darker than your usual glass of _Sauvignon Blanc_."

"I see. I didn't realise you're a wine connoisseur." She set the glass back on the table.

"I am not. Watch your step, there's broken glass." Mr Ambrose instructed as they stepped around the mess next to the bed.

"Hmm, I wonder why these paintings were knocked over from the wall. Wait, what are these markings?"

They both bent down to take a closer look at the faint dark-tinted smears on the backside from one of the frames.

"That appears to be some kind of dried-up liquid. One might even assume that it bears an uncanny resemblance to dried blood."

They exchanged a long, significant look.

Standing up, Miss Linton also noticed more smears on the other paintings as well as on a few shards of the broken vase. The pair headed into the bathroom and spotted various items lined on the sink's edge along with a black purse resting on the closed toilet lid.

"Are these supposed to be the victim's belongings?" Miss Linton called back to the forensics team.

"We believe so, Miss. All of the items currently lined along the sink were found in the purse which originally was set on the sink's side. One of the items is an identification card that matches the victim's name and most likely her current address."

Miss Linton picked up the small blue booklet labelled "Identity Card" and flipped it open. Sure enough, the name written was " _Caroline Elaine Sambridge Fitzgerald_ ". She set the booklet back down and glanced at the other items. Wallet, coin purse, makeup, various keys including the one for the hotel room and…

Two identical bottles of perfume?

Miss Linton's gaze automatically focused on the bottles laying side by side. The amber colour of each was the same shade but one bottle was half empty while the other appeared to be nearly full. She began to unscrew the pump sprayer of the half-filled bottle.

"What are you doing, Miss Linton?"

"Inspecting the perfume bottles." She brought the bottle to her nose and warily sniffed it, then held it out towards her employer so that he could do the same. "Oddly, this scent reminds me of the wine."

She twisted the sprayer back on and recapped the bottle. She carefully unscrewed the other bottle that was nearly filled. As she began to bring it to her nose, she paused abruptly.

"Bloody hell!" She held the bottle out towards Mr Ambrose and he slightly stiffened. She began to quickly screw the sprayer back on. "This bottle reeks! Nothing like perfume whatsoever. Smells more like cleaning product."

She took out her notebook and ripped out a blank sheet of paper. She then ripped the sheet into two halves and wrote "almost full" on one and "half full" on the other. She set them down on the edge of the sink and then carefully sprayed each perfume bottle once onto its respectively labelled scrap of paper.

"I want to test if they're different substances," she explained to the man observing silently next to her. "There's a chance that they might look different on papers once they dry. We do have to wait though so we should double-check the rest of the room in the meantime."

They left the bathroom and searched the hotel room one more time, making sure that they did not miss anything. Upon finding that they had not, they returned back to the bathroom and Miss Linton gasped.

"I knew it!" She stared down at the two pieces of paper. "I knew they were different substances."

The evidence lay in front of her, as clear as a crystal. One piece of paper had not changed colour while the other was covered with black splotches.

* * *

"Let's split up."

"Split up?"

"As my apprentice, you need more practice on your own. So for the remaining witnesses, we're going to take turns speaking to them. Afterwards, we will compare information. Consider this a test for your skills."

"Alright, sir. So how do we proceed?"

"I will question Edgar Stone, the gardener. You'll speak to the hotel receptionist and the maid. Then afterwards, we will switch."

Ten minutes later, Miss Linton was seated back in the staff break room. In front of her sat a man, a pair of spectacles resting on his sallow-face. His displeased gaze and crossed arms gave her the feeling that their conversation would not be as smooth as she desired.

"Mr Hieronymus Pearson, my name is Miss Linton and—"

"Save the introductions and pleasantries, Miss Linton. You know who I am and I _certainly_ know who you are." The corner of his mouth curled into a sneer. "You're here to ask me questions about what happened here tonight, aren't you? You should speak to the manager instead. I'm innocent and you'll get no useful answers to help your case from me."

" _I_ will determine that." Her expression remained unchanged but her tone lost some of its lightness. "Let's begin now. What were you doing when—"

"When the murder took place? I was attending to the other guests as a receptionist should."

"Where were you—"

"At the front desk. Where else would I be? Ask more sensible—"

" _Mister Pearson_." Miss Linton's voice cut through his, her tone sharp. "I'm the one asking questions here so I would appreciate it if you allow me to _finish_ them."

"Why should I?" He shot back. "For the past few hours, I've been asked these repetitive, inconsequential questions, over and over again by others. And I've already answered them countless times. This is pointless."

"Fine." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Let me ask you this, Mr Pearson. What duties does the job of a receptionist entail?"

"Pardon me?"

"You are pardoned. Now answer the question."

"As a receptionist, my job is to make sure that the guests are checked in and out. Along with that, I am tasked with making sure that their stay here is the best it can be. For the past five years, I have been doing exactly that until the mess that has happened tonight."

"That's all?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Frankly, I'm disappointed in you, Mr Pearson. As a receptionist, you are much more than the two sentences you used to describe your job. For the past half decade as you put it, you are essentially the _face_ of this establishment. You are the first and last person people see when they are here. Now tell me, in refusing to cooperate with the authorities and law enforcement for something that your higher ups would view as part of _your_ responsibility, how would it look like to them?"

"I…"

"Would they reward you with that raise you've been hoping for? Probably not, huh? More like with a permanent vacation, most likely." She raised an eyebrow

He remained silent, looking at her as one would at a ghost: pallid and bug-eyed.

She sighed. "Look, I know it hasn't been an easy night for you. But trust me, the same applies for me as well. I don't want to waste your time so if you give me your cooperation, I will give you mine. Why don't you tell me what happened from your perspective? If anything is unclear, then I will ask some questions afterwards. Does that work?"

Mr Pearson stared at her for several moments. Finally, he spoke softly. "That arrangement sounds much better, Miss Linton."

He uncrossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. "Around six thirty this evening, I did see Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald enter our hotel. But at the time, I didn't know it was her. It wasn't until after her body was discovered later that I found out who she was. Anyway when she walked in, most of her face was covered with a scarf and a pair of sunglasses. I found it odd to see that she kept walking past the lobby and into the elevator without removing them. However at the same time, another guest was talking to me about a problem with their room so I could not call out to her without seeming rude."

Mr Pearson took a breath as he continued. "Five minutes later, I received a phone call from room forty-five to have a bottle of _Sauvignon Blanc_ along with one glass delivered and left outside the room's door. The guest's voice was definitely female. Nonetheless, I placed the order to room service and from what the staff informed me right after the police arrived here, the wine bottle and glass seemed to be brought into the room shortly after they were delivered."

He paused when he noticed Miss Linton scribbling furiously into her notepad.

"Continue," she urged. "I can listen while I write."

"Close to seven pm, I saw who I'm guessing was her husband, Mr Fitzgerald. A short, balding young man? He walked up to the front desk and asked me where room forty-five was. I gave him directions and pointed him to the elevator. Shortly after, I receive a phone call from the third floor from Daphne, one of our maids, that there was a dead body in room forty-five. I couldn't believe what I was hearing so I went to go see for myself. The husband was sobbing in the hallway as I entered the room. When I spotted the body on the bed, I recognised her as the lady I saw entering earlier because of her long white coat. I informed our manager right after and he immediately called the police."

He exhaled. "Before the police arrived, I saw someone else enter the hotel. He was the man who had actually booked room forty-five a few days ago for today. The reservation was made under the name Edgar Stone but I'm not sure if that's his real name. I also don't exactly know what his connection was to the couple but when I informed him that there was a dead body in his room and that the police was arriving, he stared at me in shock. When he asked who it was and I told him it was a young lady, he tried to run towards the elevator but had to be held back by some of the staff. When the police arrived and Mr Fitzgerald was told to go wait in the lobby, he saw Mr Stone and a fight ensued. They were both yelling at each other, trying to land physical blows, and had to be restrained by the officers. It was only when they were told that they would be arrested if they didn't stop that they finally calmed down. Afterwards, I was taken into the spare rooms for questioning by the officers multiple times along with the rest of the staff and have been here for hours. That's all from my perspective, Miss Linton."

She nodded slowly. "I do have one question, Mr Pearson. When Mr Stone made the reservation, you gave him the key to the room, right? How many copies did you give him?"

He looked surprised. "I only gave him one, of course. He said the reservation was just for one person which I assumed to be him."

"Alright, thank you for your time and cooperation, Mr Pearson. That will be all from me."

"Very well. Thank you for making the process easier, Miss Linton." He stood up and walked out.

After a minute of reviewing her notes, she called to the officer waiting outside the break room. "You can let the next person in, I'm ready."

Soft footsteps shuffled into the room and Miss Linton looked up to see a young woman sit down across from her timidly. She appeared to be no older than eighteen, nervously looking at the brunette detective in anticipation.

"Miss Daphne Belleville, correct?" The young lady nodded apprehensively and she continued. "I'm Miss Lillian Linton and I have been assigned to investigate the murder of Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald. I have a couple of questions for you since you were present shortly after her body was discovered. Shall we proceed?"

Miss Belleville nodded again.

"From my understanding, you work as part of the cleaning staff for this hotel?"

"Yes," she spoke shyly. "I'm a maid here. I was hired in January."

"Close to a year then. Why don't you inform me of what happened to you earlier tonight?"

"I was cleaning some of the rooms on the third floor. When I was changing the bedsheets in one of the empty rooms, I heard a shout for help. I followed the voice to see a man sobbing in the hallway. He told me that he opened a room door and saw his wife lying dead on the bed. I tried to calm him down as best as I could to no avail. He told me the room number when I asked him. I went to the room myself and nearly fainted when I saw the dead lady. I ran out into the hallway to the staff phone and called our hotel receptionist, Mr Pearson. He came up immediately and phoned our manager to call the police. In the meantime, I stayed with the husband to make sure he didn't do anything reckless. When the police arrived, they gathered the entire staff and questioned us individually. We've been here for hours and I've had to phone my mum to let her know what happened." Her shoulders slumped and Miss Linton could see the young lady's exhaustion from the dark circles under her eyes.

"I see. Is that all?"

"I believe so, I don't think there's anythi— Oh! I just remembered something!" Her expression livened as she stared at Miss Linton.

"Yes?"

"Around ten to fifteen minutes before the man called for help, I could have sworn that I heard a scream. It was so quick though so I'm not sure if I imagined it."

"Did the scream sound like it came from a male or female?"

"Female…I think? I don't exactly know."

"Alright. Is that everything you can recall then?"

"Yes. If I remember anything else, I will let you know, Miss Linton."

"Alright, Miss Belleville. Those are all the questions I have. We'll do our best to solve this as quickly as possible so you and the rest of the staff can return to your homes sooner."

"Thank you, Miss Linton." She gave the detective a small smile as she stood up and made her way out.

Once Miss Linton was alone in the break room, she sighed deeply as she rubbed her temples.

 _One more person to go_ , she thought while staring at her notes. _Edgar Stone. He's the final key to all of this. I'm sure I'll know who the killer is once I speak to him._

* * *

 **END PART 1**

 ** _How is it so far? I hope you're enjoying reading this prompt. Any possible ideas on who the culprit could be?_** ** _Part two will be updated soon so stay tuned!_**


	4. Corpses Conceal Clues (Part 2)

**"ntlpurpolia asked: Part two of the Lambrose Murder mystery prompt? :)"**

 ** _Alright, here's the conclusion continued from the previous chapter! Enjoy!_**

* * *

Miss Linton was walking down the hallway of the first floor when she saw someone familiar approaching her.

"Well? How did it go, Mr Ambrose?"

He made an aggravated sound that reflected disapproval. "Not the best of experiences. Stone refuses to say anything other than that his appearance here was just a coincidence. What a complete waste of time. How about you?"

"I had the loveliest of times. Especially speaking with the receptionist, Mr Pearson. Such a charming fellow that one is." She beamed at him with one of her dazzling smiles, as bright and artificial as a stage's spotlight.

"I see. Don't expect Stone to be the same, Miss Linton."

"Don't worry, sir. I won't."

Without a word of parting, she continued down the hallway until she arrived at the unused hotel room Mr Stone was being detained in for the time being.

"I'm Miss Linton, I'm working with Mr Ambrose on the case." She told the officer standing guard. "I wish to speak with Mr Stone."

He moved aside, opening the door. She could have sworn she heard a faintly muttered "good luck" as she passed him and he shut the door.

She nodded to another officer standing inside the room and he nodded back. Her brown eyes fell on a young man sitting at a small table that had been brought in for questioning purposes.

"Mr Edgar Stone? My name is Lillian Linton. May I sit?" She gestured to the chair opposite of his.

"Of course you may, Miss Linton." He said, regarding her with interest. "You're Mr Ambrose's partner, aren't you?"

"His apprentice," she corrected. "How did you know I was with him?"

"Kind of hard not to. You both have been a popular topic this evening."

"Popular?" She blinked. "With whom?"

"The officers. Many of them have been talking about the two outsider detectives brought in to deal with their case. Mostly complaining though at Mr Fitzgerald's lack of trust in their own abilities." He scoffed.

"Similarly, I'm guessing that a lack of trust extends from you to both me and Mr Ambrose."

"Of course," he drawled. "Considering that I'm the prime suspect for being the one who murdered Mrs Fitzgerald and you two have been hired by her husband to prove me guilty, you'll have to forgive my common sense."

"Ah. But that's where you're wrong."

"I am?"

"Yes, you _are_ wrong." She insisted. "First of all, you're seen as the prime suspect because no one knows exactly _why_ you were here to begin with. Second, Mr Fitzgerald hired us _specifically_ to find the murderer. Not to prove you guilty. Despite his staunch belief that you are the one who killed his wife."

"What about your beliefs, Miss Linton? Do they match his? Do you think I'm the murderer?"

"No."

His mouth parted slightly. " _No_?"

"No," she snorted. "Anyone with half a brain that has actually been paying attention to this case can see you are not the murderer. But…" There was a knowing glint in her eyes. "There is still something that you're hiding."

He stared at her and she continued.

"You've been telling others that your appearance here was merely a coincidence. But there's no way I'm buying that hogwash. Not with all the evidence to prove you wrong."

"Is that so?" He raised his eyebrows. "Do amuse me, Miss Linton. I've been quite bored the entire time with everyone demanding answers from me."

"I want _more_ than your amusement, Mr Stone. What else do you have to bring to the table?" Her eyes bored into his without blinking.

One corner of his mouth quirked into a smirk. "A challenge, eh? You're a very bold woman, Miss Linton." He leaned back into his chair. "I tell you what. If you're able to completely disprove that my involvement here was coincidental, then I will tell you everything you want to know. However, if you're not…"

"Then you won't tell me anything, correct? Isn't that rather counterproductive considering it's your innocence at stake here?"

"What can I say? I've always been a risk taker. Besides…" His eyes glazed over. "It's not like I have anything left now to live for, anyway."

She stared at him in bewilderment. His face abruptly switched back to its amused expression as if nothing had happened.

"So what's it going to be, Miss Linton?" He smiled at her. "Do you accept my proposition?"

Her eyes narrowed, ignoring the sudden pounding of her heart. "Yes."

"Then let's begin."

"Um…" Her heart rate picked up its speed and her mouth felt dry as she flipped through her notes, the written letters appearing blurry.

 _It's now or never, Lilly,_ she mentally told herself. _You have all the information you need, so use it!_

"Giving up so soon? I must say, I'm rather disappointed." His smug expression said otherwise.

"Of course not," she snapped. "I was just thinking of where to start."

She took a deep breath to calm herself. "Alright, let's begin with the premise of this whole case."

"What about it?"

"Why exactly was Mrs Fitzgerald here in the first place?"

"You're the detective, so you tell me."

"See, I don't know that part. But what I do know is that her appearance here had something to do with you."

"Did it?"

"It did." She declared. "Earlier, I talked to Mr Pearson, the receptionist. He said that you checked into the hotel this morning. Before coming here, I even checked the log where the guests sign their names and your name was written there."

"How do you know that was me and not someone else? My name is a pretty common one."

"True, but Mr Pearson himself gave you the key for the room this morning. As a receptionist, he's held accountable for the guests. So he's expected to have a good memory for people's appearances and names. He remembers both your name and your face."

"You're correct so far, Miss Linton. But all you have proven is that my presence here was uncoincidental, not my involvement. What does me being here have anything to do with Mrs Fitzgerald?"

"Quite a lot actually. She died in the room reserved under your name, room forty-five on the third floor of this hotel."

"Yes, but I wasn't present when she died. She could have broken into the room or gotten someone to open the door for her."

"Yes, she could have. If not for the fact that the room key was found in her purse. The one and only copy that Mr Pearson gave you this morning."

"How do you know that she didn't steal the key from me?"

"Because…" she swallowed hard. _Just this last piece of evidence and he won't be able to escape._

She continued while looking down at her notes. "From the start, I've had the feeling that you were more connected to this case than you seemed."

"Why? I'm just the gardener."

"Exactly." She raised her eyes to meet his. "Your presence here amidst all of this is so arbitrary that either everything really is a coincidence as you insist or…"

"Or?"

"Or you're more well acquainted with the people involved in this case than what appears at first glance. Well, one person in particular."

He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when Miss Linton raised her finger.

"Allow me to finish. I had a strange hunch after talking to Mr Pearson. So before coming here, I decided to do some research. I talked to Inspector Dalgliesh, the officer overseeing this case, and sure enough he gave me the one piece of information I needed. He said that when you were first detained and searched, the officers found a note. I wasn't allowed to bring it here with me so I decided to copy it down in my notebook for reference. In case you forgot its contents, let me give you a reminder."

Clearing her throat, she held up her notebook to read. "' _E, meet me at the hotel room tonight, 7:30. Yours, C_ '"

Setting her notebook back down on the table, she gave him a look. "I also saw Mrs Fitzgerald's handwriting on her Identification Card so I know the note was definitely from her. As you said, you're just the gardener. But what she wrote in the note suggests that you're more than that. Much, _much_ more to her. In addition, according to Mr Pearson, when you heard a young lady had been found dead in the room you had reserved, you tried to storm over there yourself and had to be restrained by some of the hotel's staff. I have enough reason to believe she was much more to you than simply being your employer's wife."

Silence reigned as Mr Stone kept his face devoid of any expression. Finally, he began to chuckle. It was low and without any humour, judging by the lack of mirth in his empty eyes. Miss Linton retained her solemn disposition, refusing to back down.

He clapped slowly. "Well done, Miss Linton. I must say, your deductive skills are above par. I suppose a 'congratulations' is in order for pointing out the obvious."

"My reward comes first, Mr Stone. You promised me answers and I want them."

"Very well. What do you wish to know?"

"I want you to start with your relationship with Mrs Fitzgerald. Tell me how it began."

He sighed, digging his hands into his pockets. "Mrs Fitzge— _Caroline_. I didn't meet Caroline until after she was married. My father worked for Mr Fitzgerald's father as the estate's gardener and when my father passed away, his position was offered to me."

"How long have you been working as a gardener for their family?"

"Close to a decade now. Anyway three years ago, Mr Fitzgerald's father passed away as well. His son must have felt even more lonely so he decided to marry. I saw Caroline for the first time sometime shortly after they had returned from their honeymoon. I was surprised that Mr Fitzgerald was able to marry someone as beautiful as her, given his looks— no offence intended. I saw her several times around the estate after that but never spoke to her."

"So what changed?"

"One day last year, she greeted me. After that, we slowly started talking to each other more and more during the daytime. Her husband worked nine to six on weekdays while she didn't. I eventually found out that her father forced her to accept Mr Fitzgerald's marriage proposal. Their family business was struggling financially and Mr Fitzgerald had enough wealth, all inherited from his late father, to save the business. Which is exactly what he did right after he married her. She resented both her father and her husband for putting her in the position as a housewife. She told me her dream was to become a singer. Over time, one thing led to another and…" His voice trailed off.

"You started having an affair with your employer's wife?" Miss Linton dryly finished.

He glared at her. "I could do without the judgement, Miss Linton. I loved her. I understood her better than her husband ever could had he even tried. She trusted me, confided in me above anyone else."

"So what led to tonight?"

"We planned to run away together. She told me that she wanted to be with me. I personally wanted to wait a bit longer since lately, she had not been feeling too well health-wise. But she insisted on doing it today. So we decided that we would meet here once she left a note for her husband explaining that she was leaving him. I booked the room at this hotel and gave her the key before my shift for work started. This afternoon, I found the note that you just read to me located in the shed where she and I used to secretly meet."

"And then?"

"And then I show up at this hotel at the appointed time only to find out that a young lady had died in my reserved room. I immediately assumed it was Caroline and tried to go see but the staff wouldn't allow me to leave the lobby. Then the police showed up and I see that bastard who calls himself her husband descending from the elevator. He had to gall to accuse me of murdering her! As if I ever could, she was more precious to me than my own life. No, I bet that devious snake killed her himself because he found out she was leaving him and for revenge, he wanted to pin the blame on me. Consequently, I tried to throw a few punches his way and it resulted in me being detained by the police."

"I see." She was scribbling away in her notebook again. "Sounds like a rough night for you, Mr Stone."

"That's an understatement. Any more questions for me?"

"Yes, actually. I do have one." Reaching into the deep pocket of her dress, she withdrew two small, clear resealable plastic bags. Each had a slip of paper in them. She held out a bag to him with the normal piece of paper and he hesitantly took it.

"Sniff the inside of the bag and tell me what it smells like to you."

He shot her a strange look but complied nonetheless. "This smells exactly like the perfume Caroline used to wear."

He handed her the bag back and she gave him the second one with the darkly stained piece of paper in it. "Smell this one as well but be careful. That one is strong."

He pried apart the opening of the bag and recoiled, immediately resealing the bag. "Goodness! This smells exactly like the pesticide that I use on the plants. How did you get a hold of this?"

"Both of these substances were found in room forty-five. You said the second one smells like pesticide?" She pocketed both bags again.

"One hundred percent alike. There's no mistaking that smell. It's so strong and toxic I even have to dilute it down before I spray it on the plants."

"How toxic is it?"

"It's _extremely_ corrosive if undiluted, Miss Linton. I have to wear gloves and a mask when handling it. Even when it's very diluted, I wear gloves as a precaution when I use it. I would recommend that you don't keep that bag on you for too long because the paper could corrode through the plastic and into your dress. I would hate to think of the possible results if it made contact with your skin."

"Thank you for the warning. I will make sure it is disposed of soon." She stood up. "That's all I needed to know from you. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Stone. I will do my best to solve this case immediately."

"I hope that you do." His expression was solemn. "For Caroline's sake, please."

She nodded, about to turn and leave when she straightened.

"Wait. Before I forget."

"Yes?"

She stared at him squarely in the face. "Mr Stone, do you happen to have a favourite alcoholic drink?"

* * *

"Well? Is there a reason you gathered all of us here, Miss Linton?"

She looked up to meet Inspector Dalgliesh's expectant face, his blond eyebrows furrowed.

"Yes. I believe I have solved the case."

Murmurs echoed throughout the cramped break room, the rest of the police officers flashing her wary looks. She heard one officer near her mutter, "Impossible! The forensics team hasn't even given us the results of their findings."

Her eyes travelled around the crowd, pausing when they landed on one person in particular. As usual, his sea-coloured eyes gave away no sentiments. But after a moment, he gave a nod, imperceptible to the rest of her distracted audience.

Reassured, she straightened her shoulders. Clearing her throat with emphasis, the rest of the people turned back to face her. A hush settled over the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I understand your hesitance in my deciphering this case, especially given that the murder occurred merely hours ago. Not to mention, the data from the forensics team is still pending." The officer Miss Linton had overheard earlier glanced away when she met her gaze directly.

"However when analysed," she continued, "the many clues piece together to tell the story of what really happened. I also wanted Mr Fitzgerald and Mr Stone to be here because they each have shared crucial pieces of information from their statements."

She nodded to the two men sitting at opposite ends of the room, both surrounded by officers as a precaution.

"Let's start with a simple recap of the case, shall we?"

"Around six thirty this evening, Mr Hieronymus Pearson, the hotel's receptionist, saw Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald enter the lobby. She went into the elevator, got off on the third floor and went inside room forty-five. Close to seven, Mr Morton Fitzgerald, Mrs Fitzgerald's husband, entered the hotel. He knocked on the door only to receive no reply. He tried opening the door to see it was unlocked. He entered the room and saw Mrs Fitzgerald lying dead on the bed. Immediately, he left the room and started yelling for help. Miss Daphne Belleville, a cleaning maid, was nearby and heard his cries for help. She went to the room and upon seeing Mrs Fitzgerald, ran back out and called Mr Pearson using the hallway telephone. Mr Pearson went upstairs to check out the scene himself and upon seeing the room, immediately phoned the manager to call the police and returned to the lobby. Meanwhile at seven thirty, Mr Edgar Stone, the Fitzgeralds' gardener, showed up. When Mr Pearson told him that he could not go to his room since the body of a young lady had been found, he tried to rush there and had to be stopped by the hotel staff. The police arrived on the scene and when they escorted Mr Fitzgerald back to the lobby, a fight broke out between Mr Fitzgerald and Mr Stone. This resulted as Mr Stone being detained as he attempted to turn the altercation physical."

She took a deep breath. "That covers the basics. Now let's address the elephant in the room. I'm sure every single person here is wondering who the culprit really is. Well, I'll tell you."

She paused, making sure that everyone's attention was focused on her. "The person who murdered Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald is…Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald herself."

Silence.

In the next moment, the room erupted into chaos. Confusion and outrage descended among the crowd as people questioned in protest. Both Mr Fitzgerald and Mr Stone bore expressions of betrayal and denial as they glared at her. They both seemed to be saying something but she could not understand them from the cacophony of other voices drowning theirs dissent rose to deafening levels until finally….

" _Quiet_!" Inspector Dalgliesh roared.

The crowd of people instantly fell silent.

"What is this, an investigation or a pub brawl? Wait for Miss Linton to finish and behave _respectfully_. Anyone who cannot conduct themselves properly will immediately be dismissed from this case, understood?"

Choruses of "Yes, Inspector" reverberated throughout the room. Miss Linton sent him a look that she hoped thoroughly conveyed her gratitude. She decided to continue.

"I know that the idea sounds preposterous, but her death was completely unintentional on her part."

"You mean like an accidental suicide?" A young officer spoke up nervously.

"Exactly. Her death was an accidental suicide. I'm sure that the results from the forensics team will correlate with the observations Mr Ambrose and I took when we investigated the crime scene ourselves."

"One question, Miss Linton," another officer nasally interjected. He was lanky, with long blond hair and a thin moustache. His face was twisted into a disdainful expression.

"Yes?" She had an uneasy feeling.

"If you and Mr Ambrose worked on this case together, then why are _you_ the only one speaking?"

Before she fire back a retort, a cold voice intervened.

"Because, despite our teamwork, it was Miss Linton who obtained most of the clues. She was able to figure out what exactly happened first. Do you have any objections to her presenting, _Officer Simmons_?"

"N-No, Detective Inspe— Mr Ambrose." All colour had drained from his face as narrowed icy eyes drilled into him.

"Adequate. Carry on, Miss Linton."

"Um, yes. As I was saying, Mr Ambrose and I found a few important details in room forty-five. When we looked at Mrs Fitzgerald's body, we noticed that her neck had been practically torn to shreds. Next to the bed was a weird-smelling glass of wine, so one might naturally assume that she had been poisoned. However, Mrs Fitzgerald was wearing red lipstick. If she had actually drunk from the glass then there would have been stains on the glass. There were none."

"So she never drank from the glass?" Another officer from the crowd asked.

"No."

"So how did she die?"

"The answer lies in the contents of her purse. In there were two perfume bottles. At first glance, they appeared to be identical in appearance. But when Mr Ambrose and I opened the bottles and smelled them, we noticed a stark difference. One smelled like perfume while the other smelled like…" She struggled for words. "…like chemicals from a cleaning product."

"So someone poisoned her perfume?"

"She replaced the perfume with another substance _herself_. As to why she did that, it has to do with the main reason why she was in the hotel to begin with. Which is what I'm sure you've been wondering especially, Mr Fitzgerald." Her head swivelled to focus on him.

"I hate to break the news to you like this but…it seems that you weren't the only man in your wife's life." Her gaze was grave.

His eyes met hers in confusion until they abruptly honed in on Mr Stone. He gasped in outrage.

"Y-You cur! Filthy son of a—" His fists shook with unadulterated wrath.

" _Mr Fitzgerald_." Miss Linton jumped in. "As much as I hate to interrupt you at the moment and as deserved as your ire is, we still have to get to the bottom of this case."

"Will there be time afterwards to curse him?" He looked at her determinedly.

"Well, yes. But…" She hesitated.

"But what?"

"It all depends on how you still feel about your wife once I finish explaining everything."

Her ominous words caught him off guard and he stared up at her with stunned eyes.

She cleared her throat. "To continue, Mrs Fitzgerald was here to meet with her lover, Mr Stone, the Fitzgeralds' gardener. Or so it initially appeared from what Mr Stone told me. She left a note for him, telling him to meet her at seven thirty pm in the room he had reserved for them in this hotel, room forty-five."

"Initially? What do you mean by that, Miss Linton?" This time, it was Inspector Dalgliesh that spoke.

"From what Mr Stone told me, he and Mrs Fitzgerald were planning to run away together. He informed me that she was quite unhappy with her marriage with Mr Fitzgerald and decided that they would run away together, tonight."

"Wait a second," Mr Fitzgerald piped up. "That doesn't make any sense. She left me a note to meet her here too!"

"What?" Mr Stone glared at him incredulously, his mouth drawn back in a frown. "What lies are you spouting now?"

"Contrary to your belief, Mr Stone," Miss Linton intercepted calmly, "I'm afraid that Mr Fitzgerald is speaking the truth. His wife also left him a note telling him to meet her here at seven pm, thirty minutes before _your_ appointed time."

He opened his mouth to throw another question but she was quicker to anticipate. "Before I spoke with you, I asked Inspector Dalgliesh to show me the notes you both received. I compared the handwriting on each note to Mrs Fitzgerald's Identification Card in her purse. _Both_ of them matched her handwriting."

His brows knitted together. "Then why…?"

Miss Linton steeled herself, her voice soft. "If Mrs Fitzgerald hadn't died here tonight, it would have been one of you two instead. That was her intention all along."

Both men stared at her in abject horror, their expressions mirroring one another. The other officers were not much different, their faces frozen with captured attention.

"It w-would've b-been—" Mr Fitzgerald choked out.

"Yes. It would have been _you_ , Mr Fitzgerald." Her gaze switched to the man on the other end of the crowded room. "And she would have framed _you_ for it, Mr Stone."

"Why?" Officer Simmons demanded. "What motive did she have?"

"A simple one, actually. Mrs Fitzgerald resented being forced into marriage with her husband. Their family business was failing and her father made her accept Mr Fitzgerald's proposal to save it. Mr Fitzgerald inherited much wealth from his late father and shortly after their marriage, he gave her family the much needed funds. But at time went on, Mrs Fitzgerald grew to hate her husband and felt trapped. It was then that she started having an affair with their gardener. When Mr Stone suggested that they run away together, she saw the opportunity and took it. She figured if she got rid of her husband and framed it on her lover, then automatically all of her husband's wealth would have gone to her. She wouldn't have had to worry about depending on a man ever again."

"I don't believe it. I don't believe it!" Mr Stone exclaimed furiously. "She wouldn't, she would _never_ —"

"She would have and she was about to." Miss Linton reiterated firmly. "You know that all the evidence is there, Mr Stone. Making you book the room, having you show up later. She didn't bring anything else with her besides her purse. If she really was planning to run away with you, shouldn't she have also brought some form of luggage?"

He refused to meet her steady gaze, shaking his head.

"She even ordered your favourite wine and was planning to poison her husband using _your_ pesticide. All of the evidence would have pointed to you."

"Wine? Pesticide? What do you mean?" Mr Fitzgerald's eyes frantically darted back and forth at the two people talking.

"On the ground, next to the bedside table with the glass of wine was the wine bottle she had ordered from room service. It was a bottle of _Sauvignon Blanc_ which conveniently also happens to be Mr Stone's favourite alcoholic drink. Mr Stone mentioned to me earlier that on occasion, he had drunk it with the both you and your wife. As for the pesticide, it has to do with the two bottles of perfume found in the bathroom. To prove that they were different from each other, I sprayed a bit from each bottle on a separate piece of paper. When the papers dried up, one piece looked the same while the other was covered with black splotches. The one with the stains came from the bottle that reminded me of a cleaning product. I had Mr Stone smell both papers and he said that the stained one smelled exactly like the pesticide that he uses for his job. According to him, the pesticide in undiluted form is very corrosive and can be very damaging if not handled properly."

She held up the two bags as proof, both still completely intact.

"If that's the case, then how come Mrs Fitzgerald died instead? You said she didn't drink from the glass of wine that had been laced with the pesticide, right?" The questions came from another officer, the scrutiny in her eyes intense.

She gave her a wan smile. "I did say that she did not drink from the glass of wine. However, I never said that the glass had been actually laced with the pesticide. I did mention earlier that it smelled strange though. When I think about it, the glass of wine smelled almost the same as the regular bottle of perfume."

"So the glass of wine was contaminated with perfume?"

"Yes. Mrs Fitzgerald had this premeditated murder all planned down to the last detail. However, there was one error she made and it was this fatal error that cost her her life. She had mixed up the two bottles. She ended up using the wrong bottle for the intended purpose."

"'For the intended purpose…'" Mr Stone murmured to himself. "Miss Linton, do you mean that she died because she had sprayed herself with the bottle that had pesticide instead of perfume?"

"That is correct, Mr Stone."

"But how did she mix up the two bottles, Miss Linton?" Inspector Dalgliesh spoke up again. "You mentioned that they each smelled quite distinct to both you and Mr Ambrose."

"They did, Inspector. But Mrs Fitzgerald didn't have the same advantage that Mr Ambrose and I had. Ultimately, it was the cause of her downfall."

"What advantage is that?"

"Good health."

"You mean…" Mr Fitzgerald had summoned enough courage to speak again. "She couldn't tell the difference because of her cold?"

"Yes. You yourself informed me that she had been sick for the past few days. The perfume and the pesticide appear to be the same colour but can be told apart by smelling them. Your wife's sense of smell was impeded and so, she unknowingly switched the two bottles."

"But if that's the case, shouldn't she have felt it burning her skin immediately?"

"She should have. However, it may have been slightly delayed from her disoriented and weakened physical state from her illness. By the time she realised, it was already too late. Her body showed signs that she had scratched at her throat. Most likely when her skin started burning, she struggled and flailed around the room, knocking over various decorations. Hence, the complete mess on the room's floor."

"I still don't understand one thing, Miss Linton." A familiar voice objected. "You say that Mrs Fitzgerald was planning to murder her husband the whole time and frame it on her gardener. But wouldn't we have realised she had been there too?"

"The answer is no, Officer Simmons. Had everything gone to Mrs Fitzgerald's plans accordingly, it would have served more in her favour. When she entered the hotel, Mr Pearson informed me that she had covered her face with a scarf and sunglasses. He had no idea who she really was until her body was found later. Also, she took more painstaking lengths to cover her tracks. Did you observe the crime scene?"

"I did."

"Did you notice anything strange about her hands?"

He paused, trying to recall. Another officer spoke up.

"Are you referring to how she was wearing gloves?"

"I am precisely. She was wearing thick leather gloves that appeared brand new. It's understandable if she was wearing them from the cold weather. But she had them on the entire time while she was in the warm room up until her death. She must have realised that her fingerprints would show up. So she covered her hands. I bet that the only things in the room that would contain her fingerprints would be her purse and the items that were in it."

She swallowed. "But there is one thing that could have incriminated her. Her note to Mr Stone. However, she could have claimed that he had forged her writing. And whose word would have seemed more believable? The wife's or his gardener's?"

Silence.

"I believe I have proven my point. The only thing left to do now that everything has been explained is to break down the case in _full detail_ , from start to finish. Are there any more needed clarifications before I proceed?"

Again, silence.

"Alright then, let's begin. Around six thirty this evening, Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald entered the lobby of this hotel, _The Sleeping Siren_. The receptionist, Mr Hieronymus Pearson, saw her walk in but could not really tell how she looked like since she had covered her head with a silk scarf and her eyes with sunglasses. She used the elevator to enter the third floor and open room forty-five using the hotel key Mr Edgar Stone, her gardener and lover, had given her. Shortly after, she called for room service to deliver a bottle of _Sauvignon Blanc_ along with a glass outside the door. They did and she took the items inside once no one else was present. She prepared the glass of wine and retrieving a perfume bottle filled with what she thought was pesticide, ended up pouring about half of it into the wine glass. While waiting for her husband to arrive, she decided to spray some of her usual perfume in another bottle on her neck. However because she had been sick and had a cold, she didn't realise she had switched the two bottles. So she had instead poured perfume in the wine glass and sprayed concentrated pesticide on her neck. Sometime shortly after, her neck began to burn and she scratched at it. Her leather gloves had dug into the sensitive and chemically burned areas on her skin, coating the tips with blood. She tried to reach the bathroom sink and in her attempt, knocked over numerous items to the ground including a vase, paintings, and the bottle of wine. The ends of her gloves made contact with some of these items and her blood transferred over to them, drying on there. Already in a weakened state previously from her illness, she collapsed onto the bed, screaming. The pesticide burned through the thin skin on her neck and eventually into the bone, the chemical burn fatal to her delicate disposition."

She flipped through her notes. "Now that explains the sequence of her death. Onto following events. Close to seven pm, Mr Morton Fitzgerald arrived at the hotel lobby. He asked Mr Pearson for directions to room forty-five, having received a mysterious note in his lunchbox from his wife telling him to meet her there at seven o'clock. He went as directed and knocked on the room door. Upon receiving no reply, he opened the door. He saw Mrs Fitzgerald's dead body and ran out of the room to get help. Miss Daphne Belleville, a young maid nearby, heard his cries and went to him. Earlier, Miss Belleville had heard a scream but said it was so short that she wasn't sure if she had imagined it. In reality, she had heard Mrs Fitzgerald's final scream. When Miss Belleville saw her dead body, she ran from the room and phoned for help from the hallway. After receiving her call, Mr Pearson went upstairs to investigate for himself. Upon confirming that someone had died in the room, he called the manager to phone for the police. He then returned to the lobby to continue attending to guests while Miss Belleville stayed with Mr Fitzgerald. Close to seven thirty, Mr Stone showed up from the note Mrs Fitzgerald had left for him. Mr Pearson recognised him as the person who had booked room forty-five in the morning. He told him that he couldn't enter the room since a young lady's body had been found there. Mr Stone assumed that it was Mrs Fitzgerald and tried to storm upstairs anyway. As a result, he had to be physically held back by the hotel staff. The police arrived at the hotel right after and escorted Mr Fitzgerald and Miss Belleville back to the lobby so they could investigate the scene for themselves. Mr Fitzgerald and Mr Stone saw each other and both assumed that the other had played a hand in Mrs Fitzgerald's death. They began to argue and Mr Stone was detained when he tried to physically attack Mr Fitzgerald."

She released a deep exhale. "That is the case in its entirety. Are there any final questions?"

Before anyone could speak up, the door swung open, startling everyone inside. An officer burst through the doorway. He halted and looked around the room when he saw that all eyes were trained on him. In his hand, he grasped a sizable folder.

"Uh, I'm sorry to interrupt but the results from the forensics team are here."

* * *

About an hour later, Mr Ambrose went with Mr Fitzgerald to ensure that the promised payment was delivered while Miss Linton headed back to headquarters with Inspector Dalgliesh in one of the patrol cars. Her gaze was riveted towards the window as London's bright night lights flashed by.

"Miss Linton?"

Her head turned towards the voice next to her.

"Yes, Inspector Dalgliesh?"

"On behalf of London's police force, I wanted to thank you for your brilliant deductions tonight. Without them, the true culprit would have never been discovered."

She flashed him a brief, tight-lipped smile. "Just doing my job and what is expected of me."

"I hope you don't mind my curiosity, but I've had a question for some time ever since I first met you."

Her tone took on a cautious edge "What is it?"

"How did you manage to land in the employ of my former colleague?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but he continued.

"Allow me to explain first. Now, I intend no offence here, Miss Linton. You yourself have probably witnessed firsthand some of his more _noteworthy_ traits. I was wondering how you managed to convince someone of his…disposition to hire you."

She burst out laughing. The surprisingly girlish peal of laughter startled the officer and he wondered if Miss Linton had taken leave of her senses due to the recent case.

Wiping tears of mirth from her eyes, she sat upright. "My apologies, Inspector. I didn't expect such a question. I also have to correct your misguided– although valid– assumption. Mr Ambrose insisted on offering me a job actually. Not the other way around."

" _What_?"

"Oh yes," she answered with a genuine smile on her face. "He was quite adamant on hiring me the first time we met."

"How?" His brow was furrowed in incredulity.

"Well…I suppose I should start from the beginning. I myself was doing some amateur investigating when I spotted a pickpocket stealing someone's wallet. I chased after the thief, apprehended him and returned the wallet back to its owner. The next thing I knew, said owner introduced himself as Mr Rikkard Ambrose and gave me a business card, offering me a job as his apprentice. He told me he was a detective running his own private investigation agency and said to show up at his office sharp at nine on Monday morning. I did, but he wasn't very pleased about it."

"Why?"

"Hmm…how do I put this delicately? When we met, I was in disguise, so to speak."

"Disguise?"

"I was wearing men's clothes." She finally stated with unruffled bluntness.

" _I beg your pardon_?"

"You have it, Inspector. Anyway, I showed up for the position in my usual attire and he was considering on rescinding his previous offer. I questioned his integrity and asked if he was going to go back on his word, given his profession. That part seemed to get to him and he agreed to give me the job. But…"

"But?"

"It wasn't easy. At first, he tried various ways to force me to quit. Tough tasks, being demanding, scare tactics. Claimed that such a job was too dangerous for me. But I persisted. Persevered. Proved him wrong in the end." She frowned pensively. "I think I might have even gained his trust by now."

"Quite the feat, if I may remark."

"Thank you."

"You are very welcome. Although I now have another question."

"Ask away."

"Why were you wearing men's clothes in the first place?"

"Like I said, it was a disguise. I was trying to gather information on some nasty man harassing my younger sister." She grimaced. "He was acting inappropriately, following her around and leaving her weird notes."

"And what happened to him? Is he still bothering your sister?"

"No idea. Shortly after I started working for Mr Ambrose, he vanished suddenly. But I suppose that's one less worry, mysterious disappearance and all."

"Indeed." The Inspector simply murmured, choosing to remain silent about his own suspicions.

"Inspector Dalgliesh…I also have a question too." She glanced at him demurely.

"Yes, Miss Linton?"

"You once said that Mr Ambrose used to work with you in the police department, specifically as part of the CID.* Why did he decide to leave and start his own agency?"

"Now that, my dear," the Inspector smirked, but the expression did not entirely reach his eyes. "That is something you're going to have to ask him yourself. You said that he trusts you, yes?"

"I believe he does. But you don't know why?"

"I have my suspicions. Even if I did know entirely, it still wouldn't be my place to tell you."

"I see." She sighed. "Reasonable enough."

The car pulled up to the front of the New Scotland Yard and together, they entered into the North building. They headed up to his office and she gave him a copy of her notes for the case. Afterwards, they informed the other officers what had happened. As the morning's sunrise streamed through the windows, Miss Linton was given a cup of coffee and a croissant for an early breakfast while she waited for Mr Ambrose to return.

She was dozing off in one of the chairs near the entrance when she heard hard footsteps approach. She looked up at her boss, bleary-eyed, while he maintained his cool demeanour, appearing composed as ever.

"Let's go, Miss Linton." He tersely commanded.

"Was the payment received?" She enquired.

"In full. Then afterwards the usual interrogation here at the station and former colleagues being nosey as usual." He snorted derisively and she had to suppress a smile. "Enough questions. We can speak more about this later."

She stumbled to her feet, wobbling, and he put a strong arm around her, firmly grasping her shoulder as he steered her out of the station. His grip did not relax until he had escorted her into the taxicab waiting for them. To her own surprise, she did not protest, having found the gesture comforting— ultimately deducing that the lack of sleep had affected her rationale.

He climbed into the back of the cab from the other side, settling next to her. After he rattled off the the office's address to the driver, Miss Linton turned to him, blinking owlishly.

"We're not walking back to the office?"

"I deemed it inefficient given your current state." He looked at her pointedly. "In addition, this is rather…a unique occasion."

"Unique occasion?" She squinted at him sleepily.

"The other officers were quite impressed with your skills today. Although I can't fathom quite fully as to why. Even another trainee could have solved this case. The Department must be really desperate to hire more people." A noise of disapproval left his mouth. "Get some rest, Miss Linton. We're done for today."

She wanted to open her mouth to protest, ask him more questions but the urge to sleep grew overwhelming. Her eyes fluttered shut and she felt her body slump against something hard but warm.

Mustering the last remaining traces of her depleted energy, she asked him one last question. "How did I do today, Mr Ambrose?"

Silence. Maybe she had forgotten to speak out loud.

Then a voice whispered from far away. It sounded so low that she wondered if she had imagined it.

"You did…adequately, Lillian."

The last thing she felt was a hand stroke her cheek softly as she slipped into unconsciousness, smiling.

* * *

She stirred as she felt warmth. Too much of it.

She opened her eyes and was met with the sight of a drab white ceiling with dim lighting. Sitting up, she rubbed the drowsiness out of her eyes, taking in her surroundings. She was lying on a plain bed, one that creaked loudly with her every movement. She saw that she was covered by a thick black coat, one that she recognised as belonging to her employer's. She realised that it was the cause of the heat and set it down next to her. She threw her legs over the springy mattress and stood up, yawning as she slowly stretched her sore limbs.

"Miss Linton?" A familiar, muffled voice trickled through a door to her left. "I know you're awake. Stop dawdling and come out here at once."

She cautiously tiptoed to the door and slowly opened it, looking down at the back of Mr Ambrose's head, his seated profile leaned over the papers on his desk. She could feel the displeasure emanating from him, despite being unable to see his expression.

"My, my." She smirked. "I was wondering what this door behind your desk was for."

"Now you know," he dryly remarked. "Since you're up, there's no need to waste office resources. This is a place for productive work, not a shelter for layabouts. If all you're going to do is sleep, then you might as well go home."

His back was still facing her, position unchanged, so she stepped out and shut the door behind her, manoeuvring herself around to stand in front of the lengthy wood table.

She frowned as she stared at his chiseled, impassive face. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"I…" A muscle twitched in his jaw as he glanced up at her. "You were sleeping so deeply that it would have been more work on my part to do so. Efficiency is important, Miss Linton. After all, time is _—_ "

"—knowledge is power is money. I know." She rolled her eyes, having heard the phrase at least a thousand times. She was unable to comprehend how rousing her from slumber and making her walk up the stairs to the office was easier than…

He must have carried her back inside from the car, she realised suddenly. For some reason, the thought did not irk her as much as it would have before. Warmth tinged her cheeks and her heartbeat sped up.

"Is everything alright, Miss Linton? Your face appears flushed." Sea-coloured eyes observed her intently.

"Um, y-yes, of course. It was just hot in the back room, is all. Why is that there anyway?"

"In case I need to stay overnight and work. The cases won't solve themselves, you know." He raised a dark brow. "Any other questions before you head home?"

"I do have a ques _— wait,_ you're sending me home early?" Her eyes bulged out. The last time he had done so was sometime during the start of her employment, as one of his attempts to make her quit. Indignation welled up, threatening to spill over. She had thought that they were past this and that he had accepted her as his apprentice.

He seemed to sense her agitation. "You misunderstand me, Miss Linton. Last night you worked overtime, unplanned. Considering the lack of foresight for yesterday's circumstances, I am giving you the rest of the day off. The case was a taxing one for the both of us and there is nothing left to do besides writing the report which I am currently working on right now. Consider it a rare opportunity given from me."

She searched his expression for sincerity, giving up when she could not detect anything from his stoic demeanour. She might as well have been staring at a rock. Miss Linton decided that she would have to take his word for it.

"Very well, Mr Ambrose." She nodded curtly.

She turned to head over to her desk and collect her things when he spoke up again.

"What was the other question you had before?"

She paused and spun back to look at him. She averted her gaze to the floor, scratching her neck awkwardly.

"Well, I'm not sure it's something professional that I can ask…"

"An irrelevant point considering that regardless, you still brought awareness to it. Unless you want your pay deducted for wasting my time?"

She gasped in outrage, glaring at him.

"Tell me," he ordered, brooking no room for argument.

"Fine." She recalled her earlier conversation with Inspector Dalgliesh when returning to the station. "I was wondering…why did you quit your job as an officer and decide to open your own agency?"

The room became deathly quiet. She waited in apprehension as the air dropped to arctic temperatures.

The freezing atmosphere persisted for a few minutes. Miss Linton finally gave up, sighing to break the silence.

"Never mind. Forget I asked anything, Mr Ambrose."

"You're right." He raised his gaze from the paper he had been staring over ever since she had asked her question, meeting a pair of anxious brown eyes. "That is _not_ a professional question. Not at all."

"Well, yes." She softly agreed, crossing her arms. "But…not much about our situation has been professional from the start."

More silence. His gaze turned thoughtful as he stared at the bold young woman standing in front of him.

"Indeed. I suppose you're also right about that, Miss Linton."

"So…what now then?"

"We appear to be at an impasse." He rubbed at his chin in contemplation.

"Any ideas to change that?"

"I do have one. Since you proposed an unprofessional question, why don't I answer it in an unprofessional setting?"

"What? I-I'm sorry, Mr Ambrose, but could you elaborate? I don't quite understand what you mean."

His mouth flattened. "It's rather simple, Miss Linton. You asked a question unsuitable for work. From your demonstrated persistency and stubbornness during numerous past occasions, you probably won't give up completely until you have received a suitable answer. Therefore, I am proposing to give you one when we are not at work."

"So…we meet outside of work to discuss this then?"

"It would seem that is the best course of action."

Miss Linton had to exert considerable effort to maintain a straight face despite her mouth's rebellious desire to drop to the cold, solid floor.

"So…"

"So?"

"When do we meet to discuss this?"

"I will leave that to you to decide, Miss Linton. It is _your_ question. So it depends on when _you_ want the answer."

Again, she had to strain to keep her jaw clamped. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Mr Ambrose actually wanting to give her an answer to her question let alone allowing her to decide when they could meet? It seemed that miracles really could happen.

"Since you're letting me go home today…" She began. "…and tomorrow is Saturday, my weekly day off, why don't we meet tomorrow in the evening?"

His eyebrows rose about a millimetre but other than that, he displayed no other visible reaction. "That can be arranged. Where do we meet?"

"Outside my apartment building. Five pm sharp." Her mouth curved into a mischievous smirk.

From the way his eyes glowered at her, she could tell he was already regretting his decision. Her smirk deepened.

"Very well." She turned to leave when he called after her again. "Miss Linton?"

"Yes, Mr Ambrose?"

"Don't forget. This is _strictly_ a professional meeting."

"A professional meeting at an unprofessional location for an unprofessional discussion?"

"Yes."

"Noted."

"One last thing before you leave, Miss Linton."

"Yes, Mr Ambrose?"

"Don't even think that you're getting paid overtime for this!" He icily glared at her. "We are meeting for a discussion and nothing more. Is that clear?"

She smiled innocently at her employer.

"I would _never_ dream of anything more."

* * *

 ** _Well, I hope you all enjoyed reading this. Were you able to figure out the culprit? I tried to make it as obvious as I could. This prompt was a lot of fun for me to write and that's why it ended up so long oops. I plan to continue this AU in another oneshot suggestion that was sent to me which you all will see later on. I'm very rusty on the mystery genre so if there's anything I could improve on, do leave me the feedback (I'm pretty sure there were a bunch of inaccuracies in this haha). I would appreciate it very much!_**

 **Glossary:**

 *** CID- Criminal Investigation Department**


	5. Colour My Perspective

**"Anonymous asked: Rewrite of the first scene but with the au where you're colorblind until you see your soulmate (preferably where they're both too shocked to say anything until Lilly's dragged out of the polling office)"**

 ** _What an intriguing suggestion. This prompt was the first time I had ever heard of the colorblind soulmate AU so I had to do some research and read other fanfics from other fandoms to get a general idea of it._**

 ** _I dont know if I correctly wrote out what anon suggested in parenthesis. But to make up for it, I tried to one-up their request._** ** _I figured this prompt would make for an…interesting read from Rikkard Ambrose's POV (even though there's already countless fanfics written in this style). This was definitely tougher to write than Lilly's POV but I tried my best to make it CLOSELY PARALLEL the Ambrose POV chapter from Book 1._**

 ** _**Text in_** **bold font** ** _is dialogue taken from the series and belongs to Robert Thier.**_**

* * *

'Ah! Would you just look at that! What a sight to see! There's just no place like London! No place like it whatsoever! Don't you agree, Sir?'

Silence.

'Just listen to those sounds! Nothing else has ever felt so welcoming! It's a treat for the ears! Isn't it wonderful, Sir?'

Silence.

'Can you smell that? Just take a whiff of that fresh sea air, Sir! Air so fresh! No air like that anywhere else! What do you think, Sir?'

Silence.

'I've been all over the world. I've travelled everywhere there is to see. The coasts of Brazil, the islands in the West, all European ports, but there is no place as wonderful as home. Isn't it nostalgic, Sir?'

My head slowly turned to meet the Captain's bright smile. Cold eyes drilled into his.

'What exactly, Captain? The fog, the people yelling, or the pollution?'

His smile didn't diminish as I expected. 'Everything,of course! Isn't it great to be returning to England, Mr Ambrose?' He clapped a wrinkled hand on my shoulder.

In lieu of a dagger, I used my eyes. They dug into his hand _still_ grasping my shoulder, then at him. I said nothing as the seconds ticked by.

 _Eighteen seconds…_

 _Forty-two seconds…_

 _One minute and twenty-five seconds…_

 _Two minutes and seven seconds…_

His smile faded and he withdrew his hand. 'Um…I will go check on the rest of the, er, crew.'

He retreated. I didn't bother glancing at his departing form. I stared out at the approaching harbour, growing bigger with every passing minute.

' _Sahib_?'

'Yes?' I addressed the man standing behind me. I still didn't move.

'The Captain says we're close to docking, _Sahib_.'

'Adequate. Go check on the goods.'

'I will immediately, _Sahib_.'

Silence. But no retreating footsteps.

' _Sahib_?'

'What is it, Karim?'

'Is Dalgliesh awaiting our arrival? Will he have something planned?'

I turned to look at him. With his turban atop his head, his arms were crossed and his dark eyes were focused ahead, glaring into the grey distance.

'Do you expect that he does?'

'I do, _Sahib_.'

'Then he won't, Karim.' My hand dug into my tailcoat pocket, making sure that the loaded revolver was there. 'One should expect the unexpected, not the expected.'

His eyes met mine. 'You have a point, _Sahib_.' His hand twitched, towards the direction of his sabre hanging from his belt.

Silence again.

'I will go check on the cargo, _Sahib_.' The looming figure of my bodyguard diminished into the mist.

I turned my head back towards the impending harbour, ever growing closer. Black and white highlighted the distance. Multitudes of grey tones illuminated the sky.

Unbidden, I heard a young woman's voice.

' ** _I'm sure if you meet the right girl, she will be like sunshine, brightening up your life._** ' **¹**

I shook my head. Why was I remembering _her_ words now? Out of all the unlikely times.

The absurd notion of seeing "colour" from meeting your "soulmate" was a needless complication and more likely, both merely exaggerated hoaxes. What I could see now was more than enough.

However, if only a similar idea extended to sensation. It would have been extremely useful against the current weather. I tipped my hat down over my face, to shield from the worst of the wind. It wasn't very effective.

As my destination loomed closer, realisation struck. It was almost a decade since I had been here, back in England. I had been much younger then, running from…

Something churned in my gut and I ignored it.

Probably just hunger.

* * *

'Mr Ambrose, how does it feel to be back from the colonies?'

'Mr Ambrose, what is the secret to your wealth?'

'A statement, Mr Ambrose, on the upcoming elections! Which party do you support?'

A pack of reporters circled the gangway as Karim and I descended from the ship. I narrowed my eyes, disregarding them the same way that I did to those requesting charity.

I gave them the same response as well. Rather, a lack of one. Ignoring them, I stepped down from the gangplank and onto the landing.

One reporter in particular remained in place, blocking my way. My eyes bored into his, unblinking. He gulped, but still refused to move. The man's courageous spirit was admirable, although foolishly misplaced.

'Is it true that recently, you deliberately betrayed a business associate and had him arrested to obtain and resell his property?'

'I did.'

' _What_?'

'Yes. I exposed him, purchased his property and resold it so it could be demolished to build a railroad. Does that answer your question?'

He stared at me, slack-jawed. 'But that's unethical, even for business! Where's your sense of honour as a gentleman? Your conscience?'

I cocked my head. I had been mistaken, unfortunately. It seemed that this man lacked courage and was just utterly foolish.

'Conscience?'

I took a step towards him and he took a step back.

'Haven't you heard of the saying?' I asked.

One step forward. One step back in response.

'All is fair in love and war.' I continued.

Another step forward. Another step back and…

 _Splash!_

The reporter fell into the water. The distracted fool had forgotten to pay attention to his surroundings. Big mistake.

' _Especially war_.'

I raised an eyebrow at his sputtering form as he resurfaced from the sea, gasping for air. I turned my gaze to rest of the convened hyenas, frozen in shock.

'Well? Any other questions?'

Unfreezing, they fled.

'That went smoother than expected.' Karim remarked, beside me.

'Indeed. But it seems we have another problem.'

The reporters had left but from the commotion, a crowd of people had formed. Their expressions were all identical, eyes widened in disbelief at the current scene.

'Do you want me to handle this, _Sahib_?'

'No need.' Stepping forward, I stared down at the individuals among the forelines of the crowd. Their eyes directly met mine. I could see curiosity and fear mingled in them. I narrowed my eyes again. My head jerked upwards, once.

Wordlessly, they began to part from the middle. The people behind them followed suit and so forth. The crowd eventually split in half, forming a pathway for me and my bodyguard to cross. As we walked through the crowd, I could hear various whispers.

'Is that…?'

'Rikkard Ambrose! Rumour has it that he left here a decade ago…'

'One of the richest men from the British Empire!'

'…pretty good looking too if I do say so myself.'

I kept my eyes focused straight ahead and tuned them out. Gods didn't concern themselves with the buzzing of insects.

Well, from what I had been told. Doing so otherwise sounded like a complete waste of time.

We exited out into one of the streets. Karim didn't stray from his spot behind me when I stopped.

'What now, _Sahib_?'

I reached into my pocket and withdrew a written slip of paper, handing it to him.

'Is this the address of the office?'

A curt nod.

'Should I get a cab, _Sahib_?'

I shook my head.

'Are we walking there?'

Another curt nod.

'Very well, _Sahib_.'

Without another word, we both headed straight into the fog.

* * *

 _Plink_.

A minute passed. No answer.

 _Plink_.

Thirty seconds. Still no answer.

 _Plink_.

Ten seconds. Silence.

This was ridiculous! Three messages and no response? Was it too much to expect diligence from employees, more specifically, personal secretaries? With additional emphasis on the _personal_ part, they were supposed to immediately respond to their employers!

I was about to pull the lever to send another message through the pneumatic tube— my designated method of efficient communication throughout the building for the due intention of saving time— when I realised it was not fulfilling its intended purpose.

'Simmons!' I called out.

Still silence.

I stood up, the chair scraping against the bare stone floor as it was shoved back. I marched over to the door connecting my office with his and threw open the door.

Emptiness. The only exception being the dust motes floating in the air.

My hand reached into the pocket of my waistcoat, retrieving my watch. I ignored the symbol on the silver lid as the watch opened, displaying the time. Exactly thirty-two minutes and fifty-eight seconds past ten in the morning. Where was Simmons? For the first time since my arrival in London, he was late.

I checked through his desk drawers for a note. Nothing. In fact, the entire desk was empty. Almost as if…

I marched back into my office and grabbed the mouthpiece that led down to the floor below.

'Karim? Come up now! Simmons is missing!'

Twenty-three seconds later, Karim entered my office. Upon seeing my expression, he wordlessly headed into the adjacent office, searching the room. I could hear items being shuffled around and drawers opening while I waited.

'No results, _Sahib_.' Karim rematerialised at the doorway, confirming my suspicions. He shook his head. 'The room is completely emptied of his belongings.'

'Check the rest of the building. If you happen to find him, then _personally_ inform him my opinions on tardiness.'

'I will do so, _Sahib_.'

Approximately twenty-seven minutes and twelve seconds later, Karim returned. His eyebrows were furrowed. He shook his head again. 'Still nothing, _Sahib_. He's not in this building.'

My eyes narrowed. That could only mean one thing. 'Then he permanently left.'

'It seems so, _Sahib_. He must have decided to quit his job.'

'Quit? Why quit now? He was here for nearly three years before I arrived.'

'I have no idea, _Sahib_. He didn't leave anything behind that could have explained. No resignation letter, no personal items, nothing at all.'

My eyes narrowed even further. The gall of that imbecile! He didn't even have the patience for me to personally sack him.

' _Sahib_ ,' Karim spoke up again, 'Did you want me to post an advertisement for a job opening in _The Times_?

My eyes shot up to glare at him. 'Karim, are you insane? Do you have any idea how much it costs for a newspaper advertisement nowadays?'

'I do not, _Sahib_.'

'Too exorbitant to be sensible, that's how much! Never mind that. I'll have to find another way to hire a replacement. Until then, I'll manage on my own.'

* * *

A few days later, I glowered at the significantly sized pile of letters sitting on my desk, willing them to make themselves scarce through the force of my eyes. For some reason, it didn't seem to work. It was the appointed task of my secretary to sort through my mail. But as that position was currently unoccupied, the responsibility had fallen to me.

'Are you sure about not advertising the open position, _Sahib_?' The deep voice rumbled above me.

I didn't answer. Instead, I riffled through the envelopes, promptly dumping the ones with dainty penmanship or extravagant designs into the waste paper bin.

'Those could be crucial correspondence from business associations.' Karim nodded to the discarded letters.

'Not for the type of business I desire to conduct.' I gave him a pointed look.

'I see, _Sahib_. My apologies.'

'Any recent news from the estate agents?'

'I have not heard anything from them, _Sahib_.'

'Convey our urgency, Karim. I need another office in the countryside for my business dealings.' I steepled my fingers as I glanced around the stark, dimly lit interior of my office. 'Negotiations aren't proceeding as smoothly in here as I would like.'

'I wonder why, _Sahib_.'

'I do too, Karim. It would be a waste of investment otherwise if these deals weren't so crucial.'

Before he could respond, a voice came from one of the speaking tubes on my desk. I picked it up and recognised the other person as Mr Stone, from the inquiry desk.

'Mr Ambrose, there is a young boy here to see you. He says he was sent by Mr Elseworth from Elseworth and Brown, estate agents.'

Karim and I looked at each other before I spoke. 'Send him in.'

'Yes, Mr Ambrose, Sir.'

I set the tube back down on the desk when knocking came from the door. A moment later, the door opened and the message boy stepped in.

'Mr Elseworth sent you?'

'He did, Guv. You was looking for a place in the country?'

'I still am.'

'Mr Elseworth's got a place for you. He's downstairs waiting since 'e heard you wanted a place real quick.'

'Let's go, Karim. We'll see what Mr Elseworth has to offer.' I stood up and followed the boy downstairs to the entrance.

Once my feet stepped onto the stone floor of the main hall, the workers noticed my presence. They halted, all eyes transfixed on me.

I met the eyes of the sallow-faced receptionist. Mr Pearson was his name, from what my memory recalled. His face lost colour and he bent over in a small bow before resuming his work.

My icy gaze flashed back to the rest of the statues, fixing on their motionless figures for one second.

In the next, they moved again, doubling the speed to their destination.

Adequate. It seemed that news had spread since my initial arrival here.

When I had entered Empire House for the first time, there had been something called a ' _welcoming party'_ arranged for me. It was organised by none other than Sallow-face himself. No doubt a lick-spittle ploy to fall into my good graces. It would have worked on anyone else— just not on _me_.

To my extreme displeasure, there had been banners and decorations. Even a garish brass band playing. The employees had been standing by them, not a single one doing his appointed task.

I had immediately put an end to the frivolous activity, of course. The band left once they realised they were not getting paid and that they would be thrown out instead. I ordered the employees to sell whatever they could and to dispose of the rest of the clutter. One man protested to my commands, insisting that 'The garlands were specially multi-coloured!'

He had been permanently dismissed later that day.

Currently, I followed the boy across the hall as he led me to whom I assumed was Mr Elseworth. He resembled a pig, with a considerable figure and small beady eyes.

'Mr Ambrose!' He gave me a simpering grin, holding out his hand for me to shake. 'Just the man I wanted to see! I believe I have something that you will like very much. I appreciate that you came all the way down here to escort me. Shall you lead the way back to your office and we—'

'No.' I ignored his extended hand. 'I have business to attend to. We will talk on the way. Come.'

Without waiting for a response, I went outside. Approximately eight seconds later, Mr Elseworth appeared beside me, panting heavily to keep up with my pace.

'Wouldn't it be…better if…we discussed…this inside—'

'No.' Taking out my pocketwatch without breaking my stride, I checked the time. 'I have somewhere to be in seventeen minutes and three seconds. If you have an offer to make, then make it _now_.'

* * *

Twelve minutes and forty three seconds had passed when I arrived at the street for my intended location. I had heard enough from Mr Elseworth with his acclamations on Wilding Park. In between his laboured breathing, I had discerned that it had ten bedrooms and the latest bathing amenities.

'It's simply spectacular, I tell you!' He droned on mindlessly. 'One of the best places I have ever I seen and I have seen a lot of places. A lot of places for my years.'

'Is that so?' My gaze was fixed on a particular building that had come into view. 'How strange that you intend to sell it so easily.'

'To you, of course, Mr Ambrose! I can tell that you're a man after my own heart. With you, Wilding Park will be well cared for. I just know it. There is so much it has to offer…'

He continued rambling on. His servile chattering bored me. It was a waste of time, too much spent on a matter that didn't need much thought. Country estates were the same, more or less.

'Mr Elseworth,' I cut him off, mid-flattery. 'You have effectively expressed your opinion. I accept your offer.'

His round face beamed but I continued. 'However, if I find that the place is…defective to your description, then I will be dissatisfied. _Very_ dissatisfied. Do not forget that.'

His clammy pallor showed that he understood my words.

'Karim?' I waved my bodyguard forward. 'Give him the money. I'm already busy as it is.'

Karim stepped closer to Mr Elseworth, ready to finish this deal— then paused. I was about to question him when I heard it.

To be more specific, someone clearing their throat.

'Sir? Excuse me?' The stranger's voice was clear enough to be heard and high enough to be an inconvenience. Much time had been wasted today and I didn't intend to waste any more. Whatever the person expected from me was going to be unfulfilled.

Due to the mist, I could faintly see a figure heading towards me. Until Karim grabbed the person by the arm, preventing their advance.

'Leave, boy! You're not wanted here!' He snapped. 'The _Sahib_ doesn't want your begging!'

'I'm not asking him for money!' The person countered in what resembled an irate tone. I was ready to have Karim take care of this and head towards my destination when the stranger continued. 'I'm trying to help him save some, actually.'

I completely halted.

' _Save_? Release him, Karim!' I examined the individual more closely. He seemed to be a strange young man, with a loose-fitting tailcoat and pair of trousers that billowed on his figure save for his posterior. He had round cheeks and an outsized top hat that sat upon a tangled mess of dark hair. His eyes appeared to be also dark— from what I could discern. Traces of the fog were obscuring most of his irises given the distance. Regardless, the rest of his appearance did not reassure the credibility of his words.

'Explain yourself.' I icily glared at him. 'How are you going to help me save money?'

Despite the ferocity of my eyes, he tried to step closer to me and had to be intercepted by Karim. _Interesting_. My glare was known to have the opposite effect on others. What a plucky boy. Either that or naive. Maybe both, given his juvenile impression.

'I overheard some of your conversation with Mister…' He swallowed, glancing over at the stout man staring angrily at him.

'Elseworth.'

'…Elseworth. Sir, do you plan to buy Wilding Park?'

'I do. What's it to you?'

'Well…' He rubbed at his neck nervously. 'I would recommend that you don't.'

'How come?' I cocked my head. I still couldn't see his eyes completely but his stance seemed straightforward. A bit anxious, but still open. Did he have hidden intentions?

'The place is rather decrepit and rundown in appearance.'

'How do you know this?'

'One of my relatives lives near there. My grandmother, actually. I have visited her a few times and noticed the place in passing. It isn't the loveliest of houses.'

'I am not interested in loveliness. Is it stable?'

'It is, most definitely, Sir!' Mr Elseworth interjected. His expression switched back to his previous angry glare, directed towards the young man. 'This brat doesn't know what he's saying.'

'It is _not_ stable.' The young man retorted, scowling back at him. It seemed that he had more backbone than initial appearance.

'How so?' I asked.

'The area around the house was overrun with weeds. The house itself had growing stains around the base as well as missing windows and broken roof tiles. Once, while inside my coach, I overheard the caretaker yelling about roaches in the house and rats on the grounds.'

'You noticed all this from just seeing the place at a distance a few times?'

'I did.'

'Hm. Exactly what I need.'

'But Sir, I just explained that Wilding Park is not—'

'Never mind the house. I meant you.'

' _What_?' He pointed to himself hesitantly.

'Yes. _You_ , young man.' I turned to Karim. 'Dispose of Mr Elseworth accordingly. He has breached the terms of our agreement.'

Karim gave a nod. I disregarded the squeals of terror as I returned my attention back to the young man.

'My previous secretary quit my employ a few days ago for an incomprehensible reason. Now I need a new secretary. With your memory and fast thinking, you would be the ideal man for the position.'

The young man blinked rapidly and I heard a choking noise.

'Um… _the ideal man_? I apologise, Sir, but I don't think I would fit your particular standards.'

What? Why was he choosing now _,_ out of all times, to be humble?

'Are you illiterate?'

'No, I'm not but…'

'Are you currently employed?'

'No, but…'

'Then it's decided.' I stated with absolute finality. 'My office. Exactly nine on Monday morning. Do _not_ be late.'

I reached into my pocket and stepped forward, holding out my business card towards him.

'Take this.'

The last of the fog faded and I could see the young man clearly. His irises were dark as I suspected, and looking at me in widened shock. His eyes practically bulged out when I came into his view. His jaw dropped.

What was wrong with him? Was his mental state not as sound as I had assumed?

'Hello? Here, my card.' I waved the item out.

That's when it happened.

 _It_ started from his eyes, spreading out to the rest of his face. _Something_ smeared, trickling down to the rest of his body and then outwards everywhere.

 _What was this?_

I blinked, trying to clear my vision. It didn't work. Like a stain, something was stuck to my eyes.

Was this…

No.

It couldn't be.

Was this…

 _Was this colour?_

How disorienting. I felt pain pulsate in my skull. It was unprepared for the onslaught of… of _this_.

 _I_ was unprepared.

Wait.

If I was seeing in colour then that meant…

I heard _her_ voice again.

' ** _One day, you'll meet that special someone, and it will change everything._** _'_ **²**

No.

 _No_.

Nonononono. _No!_

It _couldn't_ be!

 _This is just a coincidence_ , I told myself. _Nothing more than a coincidence._

Or a joke _._

A really bad one.

His hand reached out towards mine and I tensed. Why was he…

He tentatively grasped the edge of my business card, choosing to focus his gaze on it.

'I'm surprised, Sir.' He softly murmured. 'I didn't expect a job offer.'

Oh, right.

 _Focus! Don't forget your original purpose. You can't afford distractions._

Instantly, I smoothed my expression out, making sure it was blank. Cold. Impenetrable.

'Make sure that "surprise" isn't common for you while you work for me. I expect efficiency and attentiveness from my employees.'

Without waiting for a response, I whirled away and headed down the street, with Karim right on my heels. I was already reconsidering my job offer to the young man but the alternative was worse. I couldn't stand opening another gaudy envelope pestering me to donate or attend social events. If the young man showed up on Monday, then adequate. If not, then…I had underestimated his courage. But…

It would have been safer.

 _Preposterous_ , I chided myself. Soulmates didn't exist just because colour did. It was simply an invalid justification for one of life's unexplained mysteries.

Even so, one thing did exist: capital offence. An example of which was buggery.

Not that I would ever commit such a crime. The only times I had ever felt anything close to pleasure was while tallying my annual profits.

But upon remembering the glazed look in the young man's eyes, there was no doubt that he had experienced the same thing when he saw me. Seeing in _colour_.

Even now, the idea was still unbelievable. I would have laughed at the absurdity of the entire situation if I hadn't forgotten how to years ago.

The universe was going to pay for this. I would make sure of that.

With ten percent added interest.

* * *

Colour looked like a… a catastrophe. Like things couldn't decide what they wanted to be so they settled on greediness, taking a bit of everything. So complicated.

Needlessly, unnecessarily complicated.

It took me longer than expected to reach my destination. Disoriented, I had nearly stumbled twice while walking. _Twice_. The headache behind my eyes had not abated.

Displeased, I peered up at the sign above the entrance. _Bradley and Bullard's Bank_ , it read in very dark lettering. Black, I think?

Once, when I was much younger, I had found a discarded pamphlet about colour. Printed squares labelled as red or blue appeared identical to me. The pamphlet explained that from birth, people could only see in what was referred to as the "monochrome spectrum". The only three distinguishable colours were black, white and grey. Far more simple and efficient.

' _Sahib_?' Karim spoke next to me, concern in his voice. 'Are you unwell? Maybe we should return another time.'

'No. I will finish this now. It's pointless to waste another trip.'

'As you wish, _Sahib_.' He stepped into the establishment first, as a bodyguard would. I followed after him.

Upon our entrance, the various people chatting and writing stopped. Their eyes spotted Karim and his sabre first, then landed on me.

Disregarding the line of people waiting for the counter, I strode over to the nearest clerk.

'You! How much is this bank?' I pinned him in place with my eyes.

'Er… our accounts have low fees for both regular and stock—'

I tutted. 'Incorrect answer. _How much is this bank?_ '

The man stared at me in confusion, his dark eyes assessing me. They travelled down my figure, lingering over my simple and plain black attire. When they returned to my face, they had narrowed into slits. Commonplace halfwit. I knew he had assumed wrongly based off of my appearance.

'Sir, I'm afraid I cannot understand your request. There seems to be a misunderstanding.'

'Yes. On your part entirely.'

He stuck his nose upwards. 'I'm going to have to request that you move, Sir. You are stalling the line.'

Wordlessly, I reached into my pocket and withdrew another business card. My eyes never left his as I slid it across the counter.

His gaze flickered to the card, reading my engraved name. His blanched face slowly rose up to meet my stare.

'Where's your manager?'

'M-My apologies, Mr Ambrose, Sir. I will fetch him right away.'

He scrambled, speeding towards the back of the bank. While I waited, I picked up the card and pocketed it again. They were expensive to order and I couldn't afford to waste them.

My gaze drifted down to the counter. It was painted a darker colour, not black but something close to it. It looked familiar but I couldn't recall why.

That is, until a pair of widened eyes flashed in my vision. _His_ ey—

I clamped down on that thought. _Hard_. With such ferocity, my teeth ground together from the effort.

The headache must have impaired my thinking. That could be the only reason. There was no other possible explanation.

'Mr Ambrose?' A new voice called.

My focus moved upwards. The clerk was accompanied by another man whom I presumed was the manager.

'I'm Mr Frank Wilson, the manager of this establishment. Mr Charles informed me that you wish to purchase this bank?'

'Indeed.'

'I see. Why don't we discuss this…more privately? We can talk in my office.'

'Yes. Before that, I have a question.'

'Yes?'

'What colour is this counter?'

 _What the heck? Why did I ask that?_

'Excuse me?'

'You are excused. Now answer the question.'

'I-I'm not— uh, I can't…" He stammered.

So he didn't know. He couldn't see colour either. It was unwise and impulsive of me to assume so. Why had I taken leave of my senses? My mental state was deteriorating rapidly. The sooner I finished my business and left this place, the better.

'Brown.'

The gruff voice came somewhere behind me. I turned around to see an old man, waiting at the front of the line.

'It's called brown.'

His weathered face held no expression but his sharp eyes met mine directly, without trepidation. There was a knowing glint in them that I immediately distrusted.

I gave him a curt nod, then turned back to the two confused men standing in front of me.

'Lead the way, Mr Wilson. We have _business_ to discuss.'

* * *

Approximately seven minutes later, I left _Bradley and Bullard's Bank_ as its new owner. Karim had the written proof of the transaction details safely tucked away.

'Did this deal go according to your liking, _Sahib_?'

I inhaled, glancing around the crowded street. 'I suppose so. For now.'

Most of my headache had cleared, its remnants causing the occasional throb. Nothing that the prospect of money couldn't fix.

'One day the bank of England, _Sahib_.'

I nodded. One day.

' _Sahib_ …' Karim hesitated. 'What you asked in the bank, does that mean—'

'Patriarchal oppressors!' A screech drowned out Karim's voice. 'Chauvinist pigs!'

I turned towards the commotion to see—

Someone familiar?

Yes, it was. Karim and I stared at the defiant figure being carted out of a polling station by officers down the street. Someone too familiar. The young man I had met no less than half an hour ago. My new secretary.

Snapping out of my paralysis, I marched over to the two police officers. This was not good. The police would have to overlook this until I had found a suitable replacement.

'Officer, what is happening here? Why are you taking that young man?' I demanded.

The constable looked up and upon seeing me, froze. Unlike Mr Charles, he recognised me, judging by his shocked expression. His next words confirmed it.

'Mr Ambrose, Sir!' He saluted quickly with one hand before it returned back to restrain my replacement secretary. The young man was struggling in a fruitless endeavour for freedom. 'Sir, which young man are you referring to?'

My eyes shifted to young man he was gripping onto then back to him. Was it not obvious enough?

'The one you're restraining. Who else? Why are you taking him?'

'Mr Ambrose, Sir, I don't know how to break this gently…but this person isn't a young man.' He grabbed the young man's black hat and yanked it off. A headful of brown strands spilt out. Almost the same colour as the youth's eyes. 'A young woman. _She's_ a girl, Sir.'

What?

 _No_.

My lips parted to speak. No sound came out.

For the first time in a long time, _I had no idea what to say_.

'Is something the matter, Mr Ambrose, Sir?'

Silence. But not deliberate from my end. I had no response for him. Almost a minute had passed when he glanced at the other officer. 'If you don't mind, Mr Ambrose, we have to take her away. Perhaps she'll learn her place as a female after staying overnight in a cell.'

The other officer shook his head. 'A woman voting? What an absurd idea! Before you know it, more might even demand for a job!'

They both chuckled, but I hardly registered the sound. My mouth snapped shut at the realisation.

 _Job_.

 _Woman_.

 _A woman's job_.

 _No!_

A headache started to throb at my temples for the second time within the hour. Ice crawled down my spine only to fester into fury in my chest. My freezing glare sought one target only to find him— no, her— already staring at me.

The mal— _female's_ brown eyes met mine, unblinking. Unlike the drab shade of bank counter, they were bold. Bright. Stubborn. Annoying. They refused to cower to the glacial wrath sparking out of mine.

The police had nearly dragged _her_ around the corner, when she grinned at me. She called out before she was pulled out of sight.

' **Looking forward to seeing you at work on Monday, Sir!** ' **³**

It seemed that I now had another problem instead.

One far bigger than buggery.

* * *

 ** _Phew! This took a LOT of brushing up on the main series to write. As I said, my goal was to have this chapter parallel VERY closely to the Ambrose POV chapter of Storm and Silence but with the twist that anon asked for. So I kept major events but modified them since anon requested me for a rewrite. I hope that this oneshot is passable for an Ambrose POV._**

 **Original series quote sources:**

 **¹** ** _Before the Storm_** **, Chapter 16: 'Paths and Rails'**

 **²** ** _Before the Storm_** **, Chapter 16**

 **³** ** _Storm and Silence,_** **Chapter 1: 'Arrested for Good Manners'**


	6. Fairness in Feelings

**"Anonymous asked: Rick and Lilly going to the fair please :)"**

 _ **Hopefully anon doesnt mind, but since this ask didnt specify for this to occur in canonverse or a particular time period, Im going to use this prompt as the FINAL installment for one of my previous prompts. To be more specific, the third prompt: "Corpses Conceal Clues" Parts 1 and 2. So read that one first if you haven't already. Otherwise this will be a confusing read.**_

* * *

"That one! I want to go on that one next…"

"…that's _my_ cotton floss! I'm telling Mum!"

"Johnny! Come back here _right this instant_! I knew we shouldn't have come here…"

The two individuals weaved through the crowd of people in the park, narrowly avoiding the gaggles of screaming children. It was only when they had reached a quieter section in the area did the taller person decide to speak.

"Miss Linton, this was _not_ what I had in mind for a _professional_ meeting."

The person in question grinned back. "But Mr Ambrose, this is an _unprofessional_ location! Just right for an _unprofessional_ discussion as you wanted, don't you think?"

He did not deign to reply, simply choosing to glare ahead.

"Plus," she insisted, "it's so noisy people won't hear our conversation. They're too busy paying attention to everything else in the fun fair."

She glanced around, her focus on the various striped booths and their brightly painted signs.

"With the noise, we can barely hear each other." Her employer dryly remarked.

"If that's the case…then maybe we should stay closer together for efficiency." She murmured, sidling right next to him until their arms were touching. She looked up at him with a pair of warm eyes. "Wouldn't you agree, Mr Ambrose?"

His sea-coloured gaze bored into hers, suddenly intense. They flickered lower on her face for the briefest of seconds and then back.

"Perhaps so, Miss Linton."

It was most likely her imagination but did his voice sound slightly hoarse?

"But first things first." She broke off eye contact, looking back towards one of the booths from earlier. "Let's get some food, I'm starving."

* * *

While Miss Linton stood in line for food, she asked her boss to find a place for them to sit. She had just received her food and started to look for him when she spotted him standing against an empty booth not too far away. With his significant height, he towered over the crowd. The same could not be said for her, however, as he did not notice her approaching until she was closer.

"There is no place to sit." He informed her.

"Then we'll just stand and eat." She looked around the empty booth. "We're not in anyone's way here so this is fine."

She unwrapped the lengthy package and carefully broke off half of it, holding it out to him. "Here, you have half."

"I told you before, Miss Linton. I'm not hungry—"

She scoffed. "Knowing you, you probably didn't eat much today. And this entire sandwich is too much for me to finish. If you don't want it, then it's going to waste."

She raised an eyebrow and he took the half-sandwich, only starting to eat after she did.

They ate in comfortable silence, save for the distinct crunching noises each time they bit into the stuffed baguette.

Miss Linton took longer to eat, taking slower bites. She was halfway through her sandwich when she glanced up and saw that her companion had finished his meal.

"Wow," she exclaimed, her mouth full of food. "Yer alrery rone earing?"

"Yes, I don't like to waste time." Mr Ambrose shot her a disapproving look. "Don't speak with your mouth full, Miss Linton."

She swallowed, gulping loudly. "I prefer to savour my food when I get the chance to, thank you very much."

"Less talking, more eating."

She glared at him but complied, nonetheless.

Once she had finished, she promptly threw the empty wrapper in a trash bin nearby. "Ahhh, that was good, wasn't it?"

"It was adequate."

"Let's go and explore the rest of the fair." She started to head towards the direction of the other booths.

"Wait." A voice called behind her. She turned to see her boss regarding her with an unreadable expression.

"Yes, Mr Ambrose?"

"Miss Linton, you seem to have forgotten the original purpose of our meeting. You said you had some questions for me. Aren't you going to ask them?"

A hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "No."

" _No_?"

"No, I haven't forgotten. But I think you have. I already asked you what I wanted to know yesterday, Mr Ambrose. I'm just waiting for you to answer."

Silence. She continued.

"But I don't think you're ready to quite yet. So I will wait until you are."

"And what if I'm not ready today?" His eyes glinted in the dim lighting.

She smiled and shrugged. "Then I suppose we'll just have to hold more ' _professional meetings'_ until you are. Don't you agree?"

She didn't wait for him to answer as she grabbed his hand. He stared at her, frozen. Her smile only grew wider.

"But for today, like you, I don't intend to waste time. So we're going to see the rest of the fair since we're already here." She began to tug him back through the crowd, leading the way.

Others around them stared as they passed by, small children in confusion and young couples in amusement.

She could feel the disapproval radiating behind her from him and she chuckled. Her head turned back towards him with a smirk.

"Live a little, Mr Ambrose!"

In response, he pulled his hand out of her grasp, letting go, and he grumbled in a tone too low for her to hear. However, she barely registered his actions as her eyes fell upon something. They widened and in the next moment, she was sprinting through the throng of people.

"Excuse me! Oops! I'm sorry! Sorry, really! Pardon me, coming through!"

She squeezed through the small openings in the crowd, attempting to navigate to her destination as fast as possible. She ignored the gasps of outrage, definitely _not_ hearing Mr Ambrose's protests in the distance.

She stared up at the object on display hung up at the corner of the booth. Facing the man inside the booth, she called out to him.

"Excuse me! How much does this cost?" She pointed to the object hanging over her.

"'Tis not fer sale, Miss."

She frowned. "What do you mean ' _not for sale_ '?"

"'Tis a prize, Miss. Shoot the balls off the bottles to win."

Confused, she slowly looked up at the sign above the booth. 'Shooting Gallery', the letters read in bold, red paint.

"Oh." Her gaze flickered the air rifle beside the man and the two shelves beside him— both evenly lined with five empty alcohol bottles and a ball sitting on each bottle opening. "How much to participate?"

"One ticket gives ye three tries, Miss."

"Tickets? But I don't have any."

"Ye can buy them. See that big booth over there?" He pointed over in the distance.

"Yes."

"That's where they sell them. Come back when ye have them."

"But how do I know this won't be gone by then?" She glanced upwards at the object.

"It won't, Miss. No one's wanted it the whole day. Kinda surprised ye wants it, actually."

"I see."

"Why do you want _that_?" The deep voice came from behind her. Closer than she expected. Close enough for her stomach to flutter in recognition.

She whirled on her toes towards him. "Because I like it. Took you long enough to show up."

"Well, a certain apprentice just ran into the crowd without warning."

She leaned forward, her neck craning up to look at him directly. " _Well_ , if a certain detective hadn't let go of my hand, then there wouldn't have been a problem."

He cocked his head. "Indeed, Miss Linton?"

"Oh, yes." She breathed out. "Indeed, Mr Ambrose."

They stared at each other, their faces merely inches away from one another as they both said nothing, just merely studying the other pers—

The sound of someone clearing their throat was as effective as a bucket of cold water, causing Miss Linton to spring away from the person in front of her. She was internally grateful that her hair was loose, safely covering the currently reddening tips of her ears. Her eyes met the man inside the booth, who was watching them both warily.

She nodded at him. "I'll be back then."

Miss Linton took off towards the ticket booth. She paused, inclining her head to the side.

"Let's go, Mr Ambrose. I wouldn't want you to become lost _again_."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, they returned back to the shooting gallery booth. A small line had formed in the meantime and thus, they waited again. When her turn came, Miss Linton held out one small printed piece of paper and the man took it, handing her an air rifle.

"How many targets for what I want?"

"Ye have to hit knock over all ten balls, Miss." He handed her the air rifle. "The corks are in this basket here. So you push the cork in like this at the muzzle, turn the rifle over and pull this lever here to load it. You do this for each shot."

Clink. Clank. The lever locked back into place. He handed the loaded rifle to her and she hesitantly took it.

"Do you even know how to shoot?" Questioned the person watching behind her.

"Of course I do! I've seen it on the telly many times. How hard could it possibly be?"

Silence.

"Now for the first ball…" Her finger curled around the trigger and pushed down.

The cork flew out and hit the shelf.

"Hmm, that didn't go so well."

She struggled to load the rifle again but finally managed to before the man came over to do it again.

"Let's try again."

The second cork sailed through the air and into the back of the booth before disappearing out of sight.

"Maybe it's just a matter of practice."

For this case, it seemed to work with only loading the corks but not for shooting them. The other eight corks never made contact with the desired target. The closest Miss Linton had gotten was when one of them hit the base of the bottle.

"Two more tries, Miss."

She wiped sweat from her brow. "Blast! The movies make it look so easy! Why isn't this working? Is this game rigged?"

"It is not, Miss Linton. The fault lies on your end entirely." Again, that infuriatingly cool voice spoke up again behind her.

She turned to glare at him. " _My_ fault? How so?"

He stepped forward until he was directly behind her. Her heartbeat sped up.

"To begin with," the murmur of his voice was nearer than she expected, "your stance is off."

His arms grasped her shoulders as if he were handling something delicate, but still firmly manoeuvred her until she stood sideways.

"Legs wider apart." The toe of his shoe nudged at the heel of hers until she complied. Warmth rushed to her cheeks as she tried to not think about how it made her press more into him. Which was just about as effective as trying to ignore his presence.

"Now," his hand reached forward, pulling the rifle back."The butt of the rifle should be resting against your shoulder. This hand is already positioned where it should be, next to the trigger. As for the other…"

His opposite hand covered the one curled around the forestock and slid it further away. Miss Linton could hear her heart pounding in her ears.

"There. Now it should be easier to aim for the target. Relax your shoulders, they're too tense."

His hands settled on there, pushing down until she dropped them. They still stayed there, keeping them in place.

"Focus. Aim for ball using the barrel's end as your guide."

She took breaths to steady herself and pulled the trigger.

 _Bam!_

The first ball fell off the bottle.

"Yippee!"

She jumped and squealed in happiness. "I did it! I did it, Mr Ambrose!"

"I saw. I wouldn't be too excited if I were you. You still have nine left."

"Oh, right."

Unfortunately, her luck was not as consistent for the following shots. To her immense disappointment, she only managed to knock two more balls over.

"One more try, Miss."

After a moment of contemplation, she sighed and gave the rifle back to the man.

"Thank you, but even with a hundred more attempts, I don't think I will be able to knock all the balls over. It was fun though."

"So you're giving up?" Mr Ambrose asked.

"What's the point? I don't have the experience to win anyway."

"Regardless of experience, you're throwing away an opportunity. Don't forget it was me who bought the five tickets."

"Because I ran out of money from the sandwich!" She protested. "Plus, you said you would deduct the cost of the tickets from my wages anyway."

He gave her a look. "I appreciate the reminder, Miss Linton. But until then, these are still _my tickets_. I refuse to let you waste them."

Stepping forward, he held his hand out to the man. "Rifle."

The man immediately obeyed, looking at them both with widened eyes.

"Wait, Mr Ambrose. I forgot to load the cork—"

"No need." He cut off the objections from his employee. "I know how to do it after watching you."

Clink. Clank.

 _Bam!_

Clink. Clank.

 _Bam!_

Clink. Clank.

 _Bam!_

This repeated in rapid succession as each ball was knocked off a glass bottle. Miss Linton gaped at her employer the entire time as he fired the corks and reloaded with mechanical precision.

 _Bang!_

The ninth ball flew clean off and collided with the last remaining ball which in turn, bounced onto the booth owner's shoes. He, along with the people waiting in line watched in shock. Mr Ambrose promptly handed the rifle back to him.

"I'll be damned. Ye hit them all, Mister. Pick any prize."

"Whatever the lady wants." He responded, spinning on his heel and marching off.

Miss Linton quickly grabbed the big stuffed animal and said goodbye before following her employer. She had to run to catch up before she lost sight of him.

"How…" _Pant. Huff._ " _…_ is that…" _Pant. Wheeze._ "possible?"

He glanced at her but did not slow his pace. "It is. You just saw."

"That's not—" _Gasp! " —_ what I asked!" Her breathing steadied after much effort.

"I…" His jaw tightened. "I used to be a part of the police force, Miss Linton."

"I haven't forgotten. But even the other officers I've seen in action don't have your aim and speed."

He said nothing and her irritation grew.

"Tell me! Where did you learn to shoot like that?"

He opened his mouth but she interrupted.

"Don't you dare use your police background as an explanation again! It's something more, isn't it?"

"Why did you want that ridiculous stuffed animal anyway?" He fired back. "It's not worth the trouble."

"But you got it for me anyway. Why won't you give me an answer?" She tugged at his sleeve.

Abruptly, he halted. She almost crashed into him and so did the people walking behind them. They glared at them both but she could care less. Her eyes were focused solely on him and the storm roiling in his own as he glared at the ground.

His pinky began to twitch and after a very long moment of silence, he looked up at her.

"My father." He finally answered. "He taught me."

* * *

" _You used to live in the country_?"

They were sitting beside each other on a park bench in more secluded area save for the occasional passersby.

"My parents own an estate up in Northumberland. It was where I was born and raised."

"So you come from a wealthy family?"

"I suppose so. I don't know if that applies now."

"When was the last time you saw them?"

"Nearly ten years ago."

"A decade! Why such a long time?"

"I didn't part from them on…the most favourable of terms." His tone hardened at the end.

"What happened?" She pointedly looked ahead into the distance, afraid to see his expression.

Silence. A cautious glance downwards at his clenched fist told her that this was was a difficult topic for him.

She was about to move on to another question when he spoke.

"My father and I had our differences. Differences that only became obvious once I was older. As a child, I looked up to him very much. I wanted to be a son he was proud of. The things he liked— hunting, fishing and horseback riding became my pastimes. All to please him. Even though I held more interest in other activities such as fencing or reading."

He sighed. "Over time, his expectations grew increasingly unreasonable. He wanted me to go into medicine or politics. But while attending Eton, I found that I wanted to pursue a career in law enforcement. Shortly after I graduated, I told him what I wanted to do. He was furious. He said that I would only bring disgrace to the family. He gave me two choices: obey him or get out. I chose the latter."

"Wow." She whispered. "That's so…"

"Foolish? Rash?"

"I was about to say unfair. What your father did."

"Ah, then yes. I'm inclined to agree."

"What about the rest of your family? How did they take it?"

"My mother…" A dark edge crept into his tone and Miss Linton had to suppress a shiver. "She witnessed the argument. But she never said a single word the entire time. As for my sister, she was too young to understand what was happening then."

"How old was she?"

"Around eight or nine. She was a child. I'm ten years older than her."

"So five years younger than me." She muttered to herself. "She must be graduating school later this year."

"Most likely."

"Hasn't your family tried to contact you since you left? Not even once?"

"Much more than that. Back when I used to work in Scotland Yard, my mother would send letters every month to my office."

"And?"

"I never opened them. There was no point."

"How so?"

"It was too late for her to say anything by then. She should have done so _that night_."

"So what happened after you left your home?"

"I came here to London. I was a naive boy then. Foolishly optimistic." He scoffed. "I went directly to Scotland Yard and told them I wanted to work for them. Preferably as an officer but I would take any available position. Unimpressed, they had me fill out some forms and answer a couple verbal questions. They told me if they were interested, they would contact me."

He paused in recollection.

"Nearly a month passed and no news. The money I had secretly saved up from working on weekends in school was almost gone. I was ready to give up and return home. In my desperation, I would have pathetically grovelled at my father's feet to take me back. But it turns out I didn't have to. The night before I was planning to leave London, I received a call from one of the officers. He told me that there was no availability for new officers but there was high demand for detectives due to a shortage. I accepted the offer and was immediately started training."

"Did you consider working as a detective before then?"

"Not really, no. From the detective novels I read, I thought the situations were exaggerated. And I was right. When I was under training, I found the reality to be more mundane and repetitive. But what I didn't realise until that point was how taxing the process was. Especially the paperwork. To save time, I forced myself to become ambidextrous for writing."

"Huh. This whole time I thought you could naturally do that."

"As a trainee, I met many of the staff at Scotland Yard. However, one person I was already acquainted with. Constable Daniel Dalgliesh. He graduated from Eton too. He was a few years my senior so we didn't know each other that well. But he still recognised me. I told him about my situation and he offered me his place to stay. For the time being, I was living at a rundown motel. The salary of a trainee was not much and finances were tight."

"So you lived with him?"

"For a while, yes. When my training was complete, he convinced the Chief Inspector to assign me to his unit so we could work together. I saved up for a few months after becoming a Detective Constable. From the salary increase, I had enough to move out to my own place."

"How close are you with Dalgliesh?"

"From everything he had done for me, he was the person I trusted the most in the entire police force. Perhaps even in the entirety of London."

Miss Linton raised an eyebrow but said nothing. It did not escape her notice that he had used past tense.

"Most of our cases were assigned to the East End. The war had just ended, so there was an increase in gang activity Our unit was made of newer hires so we were scrapped with brunt work. But we didn't mind so much. Like fools, we were more eager to prove ourselves above anything else. I suppose it worked. Within the year, Dalgliesh was promoted to Sergeant."

"What about you?"

"I wasn't promoted until two years later. As Detective Sergeant, my duties became more administrative like Dalgliesh's. We saw each other less at work and more outside of it. Usually on the weekends for a meal while we discussed cases. Fast forward to four years later and by then, he was already Inspector Dalgliesh. My rank increased to Detective Inspector that year. I had assumed that my record of solving cases was what had earned me the promotion."

"It wasn't that, was it?"

"It was part of it. But not the only reason. Six months later, I was assigned to a certain case. It was wide-scale regarding the disappearance of numerous young ladies in multiple cities. I had assumed that they were all separate incidents initially until further investigation. I discovered that not only were they connected, but also all committed by the same person. I was so close to tracking the culprit when I was suddenly instructed to drop the case by the Chief Inspector."

"Why?"

"That's what I wanted to know. I asked him but he would give me no explanation. He told me to not ask any more questions about it. There was something he was hiding and I wanted to find out what it was. When I told Dalgliesh about it, he was acting…suspicious. Like there was something he didn't want to tell me. When I kept asking him about it, he finally admitted that the same thing had happened before to him and other officers too."

"How come?"

"He never said it directly but he implied that the higher ups were… _persuaded_ to drop the investigations for certain cases."

She stared at him in horror.

"No. No! You can't possibly mean…"

He turned to look at her and she let out a defeated sigh. "I see."

"Indeed, Miss Linton. I was furious when I found out. But like Dalgliesh, my hands were tied. I tried to move on to the other cases. However, my anger grew over the next few months. At that point, I could not handle it any longer. I submitted my letter of resignation to the Chief Inspector."

"How did he react?"

"With disappointment. He told me that he expected better from me. Especially given how Dalgliesh had all but begged him to promote me."

"He did _what_?"

"I didn't want to believe it either. I couldn't. Accepting it meant that I had to accept that Dalgliesh was no different from the higher ups that bent the law to their own will. Without telling him or anyone else, I quietly took my things from my former office and left."

"And then?"

"A week later, he banged on my apartment door demanding to talk to me. I let him in and he yelled at me for leaving. He asked me why but I couldn't tell him. Not after what he did. I knew he didn't have bad intentions but…"

"It went against your principles?"

"Yes. His anger at my silence resulted in him telling me that I had thrown away my only chance to make a name for myself. Then he stormed out. The next time I saw him after that was when you first met him."

"When he stopped by the office?"

"Yes. Anyway, his parting words on our previous meeting made me think. I wanted to prove him wrong. So I decided to open my own private investigation agency. Where I was the one in charge. No one could tell me what to do but myself."

"I see. What about the case you had to drop? Did you ever find out who was behind it?"

A muscle began to twitch in his jaw and a dark emotion crossed his eyes. "I did. It was the first thing I secretly investigated after I opened the agency."

"So who was the culprit?"

Silence.

After a minute passed, Miss Linton took a more direct approach.

"It wasn't Dalgliesh, was it?"

"No."

"Do you think he knew who it was?"

"I do not know, Miss Linton. Nor do I wish to."

"If you knew who it was, then why didn't you go after them?"

"Because," he ground out through gritted teeth, "all the evidence I compiled earlier had been incinerated. Even though I was working by memory, it wasn't enough to convict the person. Not to mention, the disappearances had stopped by then. If I continued to pursue the case, then I would only face trouble from the police."

By the arctic tone of his voice, Miss Linton knew to not push him further on the subject. He was not going tell her more about it.

For now.

She changed the topic. "So, um…earlier you asked me why I wanted this so badly."

She held up the big stuffed animal sitting in her lap. "Do you still wish to know why?"

Silence. She decided to take that as a confirmation.

"A few months ago, I decided to celebrate when I moved into my new apartment. I bought myself several bottles of alcohol and chocolate bars. I ended up drinking too much and well…"

Still silence. She continued.

"When I was in a drunken state, I saw yellow piggies. They looked very much like this fellow here."

She squeezed the plush cheeks of the grinning yellow pig.

"I just wanted a memento of that night. I was so happy, the happiest I had ever been in years. But because you won this for me, it means even more to me now."

He still said nothing but at her words she could see his fists unclench and some of the tension leave his jaw.

She scooted closer. Cautiously leaning over, she slowly rested her head against his shoulder, trying to provide comfort.

For the rest of the hour, they stayed together like that, unmoving.

* * *

They had decided to use the remainder of the four tickets on the Ferris Wheel. _Otherwise_ , Miss Linton had argued, _it would be a complete waste since the tickets couldn't be used elsewhere or refunded_. Her employer had conceded and thus, they sat across each other in a passenger car. The transparent windows allowed for a full view across the park and it was where the two passengers' gazes currently lay, both appearing to be lost in their own thoughts since their previous conversation.

"Mr Ambrose?"

"Yes, Miss Linton?"

She turned to look at him, his posture tense but his facial expression betraying nothing in the slightest as he still gazed down at the park.

"Do you know why I was so insistent on working for you when you first offered me the job?"

His head turned slowly to meet her earnest eyes, his own slightly narrowed.

"Enlighten me."

"How much do you know about my family?"

"More than you think."

"So you know that my younger sister and I live together, but separately from our other sisters and our aunt and uncle?"

"Yes."

"Do you know why we live separately?"

Silence.

"I'm going to take that as a ' _no_ '. For the past few years, my aunt staunchly believed that for taking care of me and my sisters since our parents died, our payment to her was marrying rich husbands. That way, she could have social connections and potentially money."

She glanced out the window, uncrossing her arms. "My older sisters had no problems finding husbands. But I refused from the start. I never wanted a life like that. For my aunt, I was always the troublemaker. We never got along well to begin with. That only doubled her determination to marry me off to some man at first chance."

His expression was still blank as he stared at her wordlessly. She gulped and her voice grew softer. "Then you offered me a job. I saw that as my ticket to freedom and I took it. I moved out from my uncle's house shortly after saving up for a bit. I brought my younger sister along as well. She and her beau have been in love for a while now. But she knew that my aunt would never accept him and that after my departure, she would be next in line for an arranged marriage."

Miss Linton grimaced. "Of course, my aunt threw a fit. But what else could she do? We were both of legal age already. Me getting a job inspired my younger sister to pursue a career too. She's now attending beauty school to be a hairdresser so she can save up and marry her beau."

"I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. I just…" She trailed off, sighing. A moment of silence reigned as she looked out the window. She turned back to meet his unwavering gaze again.

"Yesterday's case, with Mrs Caroline Fitzgerald."

"What of it?" He asked.

"Once I went home yesterday, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I wanted to stop but my mind wouldn't let me. I think I know why now."

"Why?"

"Because…" She swallowed hard. Her fingers gripped the front edge of the metal bench, knuckles whitening. "Because if I hadn't met you, would Mrs Fitzgerald have been me? If I hadn't been able to leave my uncle's place and was forced into a marriage by my aunt, would I have been the same as her? As selfish as she was, I know that if I was in her situation I would have done the same."

"I don't believe that."

She blinked. "You…don't?"

"No. Miss Linton, given your tendency for stubbornness, I think that you would have found another way to avoid marriage by your aunt, regardless. Mrs Fitzgerald tried to use money to cope with not being able to decide for herself. But you— you would never let others decide for you no matter the benefit. Otherwise, you still wouldn't be here working for me. Otherwise…tonight would have never happened."

She stared at him for a moment, completely taken off-guard. She exhaled a shaky laugh. "I suppose you're right. Thank you, Mr Ambrose."

He nodded.

The ride came to an end and they were guided out of the passenger car by an attendant. After descending the platform back onto the grass, Miss Linton checked her wristwatch.

"Oh my, it's gotten pretty late. I suppose we should leave now."

"It appears that others are."

He was correct. The crowd had dwindled and many of the remaining guests were beginning to leave, with some of the booths already shutting down and packing up. The evening at the fair was slowly, but surely coming to an end.

* * *

They were walking back to her place side by side at a brisk pace. Their breaths appeared in tandem from the chilly winter air. This time, there was no conversation as they felt comfortable, but strangely somewhat anxious at the same time to speak. The evening had been…eventful to put it mildly and both could sense that something had changed. As for what it was, they were unsure.

Their steps slowed when the familiar faded brown apartment came into sight. They stopped in front of the entrance, both glancing at each other. She hugged the stuffed yellow pig tighter to her and she turned to face him.

"Well, I suppose this is farewell."

"It is."

"I'll see you at work tomorrow then?"

"You will."

She shook her head and smiled. Her boss had certainly mastered the art of not mincing words.

"I had fun tonight, Mr Ambrose."

"Did you now?"

"I did." Her expression reflected nothing less than sincerity.

His mouth said nothing but his eyes conveyed more than enough emotion as they intently gazed into hers. Miss Linton felt something tug at her chest.

Reaching forward with her arm, she laced her fingers with his, gently squeezing his hand.

"Good night…Rikkard." She whispered. For some reason, her mouth had suddenly become dry.

He stiffened. Then…

His fingers slowly curled over hers, squeezing back.

"Good night, Lillian."

* * *

 ** _And that's it for the detective AU! I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. I have a huge weakness for fluffy moments._**

 ** _Anyway, Merry Christmas to all that celebrate it! Regardless if you do or dont, I hope that you have a wonderful day and week! Consider this chapter as a holiday gift from me to you._**


	7. A Bedtime Story

**"Anonymous asked: Lambrose with one or more kids"**

 _ **Hmmm…Im not too sure which universe this takes place in. Probably an imitation AU of a post-canonverse where lambrose had consistent, solid development for their characters and relationship. Because tbh, after reading the first few chapters of Storm of Bells, I don't really see this scenario I wrote below happening. But I can still pretend and write what I wished to see since this is a fanfic, after all.**_

* * *

The candles burned into the long hours of the night, flickering occasionally from the draft of wind in the bare hallways. The house was silent with the exception of scratching sounds reminiscent of pen on paper. Two people were still awake during a late hour, working quietly side by side with the towering piles of papers in front of them.

"Ahhhh," the woman sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck. She stretched her arms, slumping back against the hard wooden chair. Her husband glanced at her.

"Tired?" He quipped, continuing to work on the sums in front of him.

"Just stiff." She rolled her shoulders. "How far are you?"

"Halfway. You?"

"About the same. At this rate, we won't finish the balance sheets tonight."

He opened his mouth to reply when another voice interrupted.

"Mother?"

The couple peered around the stacks of papers to look at the person standing in the doorway.

"Why are you and Father awake?" The small boy approached them, rubbing at his half-open eyes.

"We're finishing some stuff for work, honey. Did you have a nightmare again?"

"No. I woke up and now I can't sleep."

"Are you hungry?" His father asked him.

"No…"

"Thirsty?"

"No…"

"Need to use the toilet?"

"No…"

"Then go back to bed at once." His father ordered. "It's far past your bedtime."

"Can I be tucked in again?" The boy's gaze darted between them both. His parents exchanged a look.

"Please?' He pouted.

"Of course, dear." His mother piped up and his expression brightened. "Your father will tuck you in."

The man in question glared and hissed under his breath for only his wife to hear. "What? Why me?"

"Because…" She muttered, glaring back. "It's your turn. Don't forget, he's _your_ son too."

He was about to argue when he noticed the young boy looking at them worriedly. He shook his head in resignation, standing up. He ignored his wife's smug smile.

"Come along then." He grabbed a lit candlestick and took the boy's hand in his own, leading him out of the dining room.

They walked together back to the boy's room. His father set the candlestick down by the small bedside table. He lifted the covers of the bed and the boy crawled into it.

The man tucked the boy in, making sure that the covers were snugly cocooning his body for warmth. He turned to pick up the candlestick, ready to leave when—

"Father?"

The man paused.

"Yes, Son?"

"Could you tell me a bedtime story?"

He turned to look at the boy, his face impassive.

"Please, Father."

"Very well." He glanced at the supine figure. "Once, there was a little boy that woke up in the middle of the night. He went to his parents— who were _very busy_ working on important things— and asked them to put him back to bed. The mother told the father to do it. The father did and the boy fell asleep immediately, allowing his parents to finish their very important work. The end."

Silence.

After a moment, then…

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"You're not very good at telling stories."

The father glared at his son, saying nothing. His son stared back, identical eyes waiting expectantly.

After a minute had passed, the man sighed. He sat down along the edge of the bed, contemplating.

"Once upon a time," he began in a low voice, "there was an _Ifrit_."

His son sat up, attention piqued. The father continued.

"This particular Ifrit had a habit of getting into trouble often. One day, the Ifrit ran into a wealthy man and his bodyguard. The Ifrit saved the wealthy man from getting swindled by a bad guy."

"What does 'swindled' mean?"

"It means being cheated or deceived. The Ifrit helped the wealthy man and in turn, the man offered the Ifrit a job to be his secretary. But little did he know…"

"Know what?"

"The Ifrit was actually a female. But she was wearing men's clothing to look like one when she met the wealthy man."

"Why did she do that, Father?"

"She wanted to vote like how males could. However when she went to vote, she accidentally curtsied and gave her identity away. The wealthy man saw the Ifrit being arrested by the police and protested. The police took off the Ifrit's hat, showing her hair and revealing her true identity. The wealthy man realised that he had offered a job to a female, something that was illegal at the time. He assumed that with his ridiculous proposition, the Ifrit wouldn't accept his offer. But…"

"The wealthy man was wrong, wasn't he?" The boy looked up at his father from the pillows, having decided to lie down again.

"Oh yes, he was. More than he could have ever imagined. The Ifrit showed up at his office the next week and demanded for his offered position as his secretary."

"And then?"

"The wealthy man tried to outwit the Ifrit. He told her that she could only work for him while in the same disguise he had seen her, as a male."

"Why did he do that?" The boy's eyebrows knitted together.

"The man didn't think that females were as smart as males. That they weren't strong."

The boy frowned. "The wealthy man wouldn't think that if he met Mother."

"Indeed." His father agreed, his gaze lingering on his son's brown hair and sea-coloured eyes.

"What happened next? Did she give up?"

"Hardly." The man snorted. "To the wealthy man's surprise, she agreed to his terms. He had underestimated the Ifrit's determination. So he tried other ways to make her leave on her own."

"That's not fair. Why didn't he give her a chance?"

"He didn't want to at first. The fact that he had hired her was enough to put both of their reputations in jeopardy. In addition, the wealthy man had a lot of enemies. Deep down, he didn't want the Ifrit to be in danger, danger that he knew was inevitable as long as she worked for him."

"So she quit?"

"Not exactly. One thing the wealthy man hadn't counted on was just how _stubborn_ the Ifrit was. She refused to leave, saying that she wanted to earn money for her independence. She stayed— even through the deadliest of times, times that most males would have fled from. With her courage, she eventually earned the wealthy man's respect. He stopped doubting her abilities once she proved to be more than capable."

The young boy's eyes had widened to saucers in awe.

"She stayed with the wealthy man during his expeditions, whether it was sneaking aboard a ship to France or trekking through a warzone in the South American jungles. Over time, the wealthy man fell in love with the Ifrit. But he didn't want to acknowledge it."

"Why not?"

"Like the Ifrit, the wealthy man was also quite stubborn. He had been through a lot, betrayed by people he had been very close to. As a result, he had to survive on his own for many years. He learnt the value of money the hard way, through back-breaking work. Because of that, he didn't trust people. He had become a cold, stingy person. He didn't want to admit having feelings for her, even to himself. He was in denial for a long while."

"So did they not end up together?" The boy mumbled, drowsiness beginning to set in.

"No. With time, they couldn't hide their feelings. Somehow along the way, they grew closer and closer. Until they finally admitted their feelings for each other. But even then it wasn't easy."

"Why?" The boy's eyelids fluttered.

"The wealthy man and the Ifrit had clashing principles. As a result, they always argued. But after a while, they both grew tired of arguing and decided to meet in the middle. Eventually, they both married and started a family. They soon found that the new lifestyle had its own challenges." He looked down at the boy, whose steady breathing indicated he had fallen asleep. "But that's a story for another day."

The man's hand reached out and gently brushed away the wavy chestnut locks from his son's forehead. He stood up, taking the candlestick.

"Good night." He started to head for the doorway when—

"Father?"

He stopped, turning to face the boy squinting at him through barely opened eyes.

"Yes, Son?"

"What's an _Ifrit_?"

* * *

 _ **So I tried a new writing style for this one: a shorter, third person perspective read without any character names. But I think it's pretty obvious who the characters were anyway. I've read numerous fanfics of lambrose with their future children, each having different names. For this oneshot, I decided to leave the choice of prospective names up to you, Reader, of their child—in this case, their son.**_


	8. Piggies and Problems

**"Anonymous asked: Hi! I saw your post asking for ideas for one shots, here's mine: Lambrose finally discussing what bothers them in their relationship (each one of them tries to defend their point). Thanks!"**

 ** _Hmm so for this one, I feel like this should have really been addressed at the beginning of book 5 since it had the setup. Of course, it didn't happen but it can happen in this prompt :) This oneshot is a rewrite of Hunting for Silence, Chapter 11: "Return of the Yellow Piggies", in Lilly Linton's POV._**

 ** _If you haven't read the original chapter and want to avoid spoilers, then DON'T read this oneshot since it contains potential SPOILERS. If you read beyond this then it's at your own risk and I claim no responsibility. Consider this a FINAL warning._**

* * *

Considerably slower than usual, I arrived at Mr Ambrose's door. I halted. Or, I tried to. My feet delayed in their response and I stumbled. My head thumped against the door.

'Ow!'

I reeled back and my hand reached out. To my luck, I grabbed onto the correct doorknob out of the three in front of me.

'Gotcha!'

My hand twisted and the door opened, taking me into the room along with it. I swayed but like a reliable doorknob, it didn't let me fall. Good doorknob. Nice doorknob. Maybe it could be a fellow advocate for women's suffrage. Maybe even—

'Mr Linton.'

I looked up to see who had interrupted my bonding with the nice brass knob. Four tall and dark figures stood by the window. Familiar figures.

'I assume you've finished today's interviews?' Strange. I heard only one voice. Maybe one of the four Ambroses decided to speak?

'Yessir!' I saluted with my free hand but they couldn't see. Not with their backs to me.

'Well? What did you find?'

I could only see one Mr Ambrose now. Funny. The other ones suddenly disappeared.

'I found t-that F-French singadingers have s-strong stub— stuffs.

He froze. There was a moment of silence and then…

'Oh no. _No_. Not again.'

He turned around slowly. So slow I could count the seconds.

One…two…seventeen…nine…

Wait. That didn't sound right. Oh well. Even for someone as experienced with sums like yours truly, math was still tough.

His dark eyes bored into me, raking me from head to foot. Actually, feet. Luckily for me, I still had both intact.

Using them, I wobbled closer to him, tightly grasping the door handle. His eyes narrowed and his stiffened posture became petrified.

In the literal sense, of course. Not the emotional sense. People like Mr Ambrose didn't have emotions, right?

As if in protest, a barrage of memories flooded my mind. Good memories. Bad memories. Happy ones. Painful ones.

Memories from months ago. All in another time, in another country. All which felt far away from here and now.

Something painful tugged at my chest. Perhaps I had drunk too much after all…

An indignant squeak within the room voiced agreement.

'Oh, be quiet!' I snapped.

'Mr Linton, I haven't said a single word for the past minute.'

'I wasn't t-talking to you! I was referring to them.' My chin jerked towards the smirking yellow piggies in the corner. They stood up and began dancing a jig, smiling at me. I reluctantly smiled back. I couldn't help it, I hadn't seen them in a while.

Mr Ambrose's eyes cut to the corner then slowly travelled back to me.

'Mr Linton, have you consumed—' Shaking his head, his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose.

Some time passed before I heard his voice again. 'Mr Linton, exactly how much alcohol did you drink?'

My head turned from the lively dancing piggies to look at him. I grinned.

'Enough to be piss drunk.'

' _Mr Linton!_ '

'Where did that phrase come from anyway? Piss drunk? Can piss be d-drunk? Perhaps it can? I've never seen that. Someone should check that out. But th-they have to close their nose. It would smell pretty bad.'

'Silence, Mr Linton!'

'What? Why?'

'Because I said so.'

'That's n-not a good enough reason to.' I threw my hands in the air exasperatedly. 'Who do you think you are, telling me—'

In my protest, both hands had let go of the door knob that was keeping me upright. I stumbled and in the next second, the floor decided to make its existence known.

'Ouch!'

The evil floor had struck again! The coward had waited over a year to make its attack. I shouldn't have underestimated its capabilities. I should have—

I felt something solid lift me up and support me against something even more solid.

'Mr Linton.' A voice breathed into my ear. A cold voice. One that made me feel all tingly inside.

'I'm all right. The floor attacked me.'

'All right? All right is not how I would currently describe you, Mr Linton.'

'How would you describe me then?' My muffled voice spoke against his tailcoat.

'Fully inebriated to the point of being physically uncoordinated.' Ice shards lined his voice. 'Tell me, Mr Linton. I gave you a job — an extremely crucial one for an investigation, did I not? But here you return, completely drunk.'

'I'm not _that_ drunk!' With considerable effort, I freed my head from the confines of his firm chest so I could look at him directly. 'Also, h-how do you know I didn't make progress on your indicat…instiga…inspiration?'

His sea-coloured eyes darkened as they inspected me intently.

'Let's say I have a hunch.'

'Bu-But that's where you're wrong, Sir!' My finger jabbed against his chest. Fortunately, it didn't break. My finger, that is. 'I did start on the task you gave me!'

'Is that so, Mr Linton?'

'It is, Mr Ambrose!' I triumphantly exclaimed. 'One of your female staff will translate my interviews tomorrow.'

'How did you manage that?'

'Just a small, friendly bet. If I could beat her at drinking, she agreed to translate. And beat her, I did. Boy it wasn't easy! French people, especially singers, sure can drink!'

'I'm certain they can.' His face was expressionless. 'So you drank during the job to start the job?'

'That I did, Sir!' I smiled in a fabulously impish manner. 'Now I have a translator and tomorrow, I'll be able to work on the…on the…what was that word you said? Oh right, the irritation. I can irritate. Starting with the staff early in the morning.'

'I'm sure you will, Mr Linton.'

'Thank you, Mr Ambrose.' I beamed at him. If only he could be this encouraging more often.

His grasp on me tightened as he pulled me to my feet.

'However, I want to add that I'm not so sure it will be early. Given your current state…you might be busy attending to other matters when you wake up.'

My brows furrowed. I opened my mouth to ask him what he meant when the floor took the opportunity to strike again. I stumbled.

That was enough! The floor wouldn't leave me alone already, the nefarious villain!

'Stupid floor!' I stamped my foot to kick it. 'How d-dare you!'

'Mr Linton?'

'What did I ever do to you? Besides walking all over you?' I glanced at the yellow piggies, now sitting down and playing cards. 'You better not hurt them either! They're my precious friends, do you hear?'

'Mr Linton…what are you doing?'

'Talking with the floor, can't you see?'

'Mr Linton, I better escort you to your room upstairs.'

'It can wait. This floor needs a serious scolding!'

'That's it.' Leaning down, he swept under my legs with a swift kick and held me up with his strong arms. 'Upstairs. _Now_.'

He moved too fast for me to discern and before I knew it, we were already out the door.

'Hey! Put me down!' I protested.

'Why? So you can continue to yell and wake the rest of the residents in your drunken state?'

I scowled. 'In my defence, the floor had it coming.'

He chose to not reply, moving stealthily through the darkness as we reached the stairs. He started up them effortlessly, my considerable weight not slowing him down in the slightest.

The only noise I could hear in the empty hallway were his faint steps. Surprisingly, the even rhythm of them as we ascended the stairway was comforting. Unwillingly my head slumped against his chest, unable to resist the warm firmness emanating from him.

I sighed. 'You're a blasted chauvinistic miser, you know that?'

'Yes. I'm well aware from how you've informed me on numerous occasions.'

We both settled into silence as he reached the last stair. Marching down a corridor, he finally spoke again in a low tone. I had to strain to hear his words.

'Is that why you said no? Back in Battlewood?'

My eyes flew open. There was no need to ask what he was talking about. I already knew.

I blinked hard as I tried to push the drowsiness out of my eyes. I glanced up at him to see his gaze focused straight ahead. His expression betrayed nothing save the tension in his clenched jaw.

I bit my lip, trying to think.

'Yes. Also no.' I stated after much deliberation.

'Logically, that doesn't make any sense.'

'I'm not a logical person, Mr Ambrose.'

'But you should be in this situation.' His eyes cut down to me as he stopped in front of a door. My eyes met his, trapped and unable to look anywhere else but at the icy force resonating from them. My breath hitched in my throat. 'I know you love me — you made that quite clear already. Back in England, I meant it when I told you that you would be mine, fully and completely.'

'There it is!' I crossed my arms, frowning. 'See, this is exactly what I mean by chauvinistic! When a woman says no, you can't act otherwise.'

'Really?' His frosty stare was relentless. 'Even if said woman didn't mean it?'

'What makes you think I didn't mean it?' I glared back. 'I said no for exactly this reason.'

He grumbled something under his breath too low for me to hear then pushed the door open. I was about to continue my argument when I saw the view in front of us.

The ceiling was high, with an intricate system of wooden rafters. But that wasn't the best part.

The best part was the view the expansive window offered.

In front of me lay the city of Paris, illuminated by the countless shining lights that extended out into the horizon. I could even see the glimmering waters of the Seine, reflecting the moonlight that extended beyond into the room itself.

I inhaled sharply, unable to take my eyes off of the resplendent scene.

'Where are we?' I breathed out.

'The attic. You're going to be stored with the rest of the cleaning supplies here.'

I looked around but on the contrary, I could only see a broom in the corner. Faint dust lined the floor and glittering cobwebs hung from the rafters.

Not that I minded. The small things didn't diminish the beauty I saw. Not in the slightest.

'I take it that you find the place suitable?'

I managed a nod.

'Adequate. This is where you will be staying for the time being.' My eyes looked up to meet his intense gaze. 'You won't disturb anyone and this place comes with a lock to prevent you from causing problems.'

My fingers slowly reached up and gently traced his cheek. 'I appreciate the gesture, Sir. But you already know it takes more than a lock to shut me in.'

He snorted. Still holding me in his arms, he strode over to a cot placed by the window. Unlike the other objects in the room, this one looked recently prepared.

Warmth bloomed when I realised that he had already readied it for me earlier. Much before I had stumbled back into his office after drinking. I looked back at him in awe only to see guarded coldness in his eyes. He looked away and my eyes narrowed.

He slowly set me down on the cot. In one fluid motion, he tugged the blankets over me. 'There. Now sleep. You need to be ready for tomorrow to continue investigating.'

With a glance in my direction, he rose and turned to leave. That is, until something made him stop. He looked down and pivoted on his heel to face me.

'What is it?'

Releasing my grip from his tailcoat sleeve, I withdrew my fingers.

'Why…' I rasped out. I swallowed and tried again. 'Why aren't you looking at me? Do you not want to be with me?'

His jaw tightened as he glared at me. 'That's what I want to know from you. Why? Why did you say no, Lillian?'

I recoiled as his words pierced deep. Something tugged at my chest and I had to blink away moisture.

'You already know why.' The words were no louder than a whisper.

He bent down to a half-kneeling position by the cot, bringing his face closer to mine. I could see the cold fury slipping from his controlled facade.

'Because of a few silly words from a wedding vow? Honour? _Obey_?'

Tugging away the covers, I pushed myself to a sitting position. My face was now merely inches away from his.

'They're silly to you because you don't have to follow them. But can you deny that you wouldn't make me do so?'

Silence. His eyes didn't leave mine. Nor did mine from his. This was the closest we had come to discussing the issue. Deep down, I suspected that the alcohol was making me…chattier than usual.

'You knew…' I croaked out. 'You knew for a long time that I didn't want to marry. I told you I valued my freedom above all. Being an appendage to a man, being dictated on how to live, how that's what I detest the most.'

He still didn't speak and I continued. 'But…I would have reconsidered marriage if the man would respect my wishes. If he would let me be myself. If he guaranteed that I could keep my freedom. If he wouldn't try to control me. He's not obligated to obey me so why should I to him?'

My eyes bored into his, unblinking. 'Marriage should be a union between equals. Partners for better or worse. But that's not what _you_ want, is it? So far, you have shown that you would be no different from a typical husband that dominates his wife. You don't even trust me to make my own decisions!'

I chuckled humorlessly. His head cocked, like a panther ready to pounce on its prey.

'What do you mean by that?'

'Captain Carter,' I glowered at him. 'Do you remember him?'

By the way his eyes flared, I knew he remembered him. All too well.

'And…what about the good captain?'

The frigid set of his tone sent warning bells through my spine.

 _Mayday, mayday! Pull back, Lilly!_

I ignored it and did something I would normally never do while sober. I decided to answer his question.

'Remember everything you did in your parents' estate? How you prevented him from seeing me by any means necessary? Including using your bodyguard?'

He remained unmoving, a personified statue hewn of polished granite.

'But even that wasn't enough for you.' I continued bitterly. 'Even though I turned down his proposal, you still decided to send him away. Straight into a war zone.'

'The Captain made that decision and accepted the offer of his own volition.' He ground out. His tone hardened even further. 'Why are you bringing him up again after all this time?'

'Because we didn't address it before fully.' I fired back, scowling.

'So why _now_?' He glared at me. 'Any lingering feelings for him?'

'I never had any feelings like that for him to begin with. I never saw him that way.' I insisted. 'I told you that clearly.'

'Oh, but you didn't.' He rose and strode over to the window, standing by it.

'What?'

'I kept asking what he meant to you. You never gave me an answer. You even went as far as to make a deal with me to protect him. What else could I assume?'

I glanced down to see that his hands were balled into fists.

'Because you kept treating me like a possession!' My head felt woozy and my palms were shaking. I clutched at the blankets to stay upright. I wouldn't back down, not now! 'I'm a free woman! I can go wherever I want, with whomever I want.'

'Physically you can…but with freedom comes responsibility.' He simply said.

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'You know what it means.' He sent me a look before facing the window again. 'With actions come consequences.'

I stared at the back of his head.

'You speak about trust,' he continued while looking out the window, 'but how can I trust you in the first place? You want to be free, to the point of irresponsibility. It doesn't work that way.'

'And you want to control, as far as complete dominance.' My voice trembled. 'It doesn't work that way either.'

Silence.

'You expect me to give up my principles, my values for you. While you keep yours.' I whispered. 'Why should I compromise for you if you can't compromise for me?'

Still silence. It hung heavily in the air, tainting the space between us. Hurt and pain of unresolved issues filled the gaps, constricting our lungs as neither of us seemed to breathe. Even the yellow piggies in the corner were silent, raptly watching us.

I finally exhaled, once dark splotches started to cloud my vision.

'Just tell me one thing. Why did you go?'

Was that a pleading tone in my voice? Certainly not! It couldn't be…

The silence stretched on. My heart felt ready to plunge into further despair with each passing second.

'When you refused me, I…'

His voice was hoarse to my utter shock. I urged him to continue.

'Yes?'

'I felt angry. So angry to the point where I wanted to take it out on someone else. My urges felt more physical. It's not the first time I felt that way towards others but violence is a waste of both time and effort. The fact that my mind kept telling me to direct it towards you, I wanted to do nothing more than hurt myself.'

I watched him with widened eyes as his back rose and fell. Almost as if he were breathing heavily.

'I couldn't stay any longer. I took the first file from my "business problems" stack and it brought me here. Coming here didn't work either. Do you know what it's like to sit through and listen to overly dramatic romance operas all day? All it did was make me think of us and what I had left behind. It became a painful reminder.' He growled out.

 _Slam!_

I glimpsed a flash of something colliding into the wall next to the window. Was that…was that his hand? Did Mr Rikkard Ambrose actually slam his fist into the wall _on purpose_?

'It…hasn't been easy for me either.' I murmured. 'You left behind something conspicuous. Rather, someone conspicuous. Do you know what it's like to have someone trailing you at nearly all times for the intention of your protection?'

'I do.'

'Do you know what it's like to make up excuses so that your lady friends do not notice said person while you're meeting them at the park?'

'I…do not.'

Silence settled between us again. But this time, it felt more familiar. It seemed like something had changed, growing into a warmer feeling.

I nervously licked my parched lips. 'I…I missed you.'

Silence. He turned to face me. And then…

'I missed you, too.'

Across the faint moonlight, his eyes met mine and something exchanged between us.

'Come here.' I heard myself say.

He did, pulling me into his arms. My arms wrapped around him and I felt secure, snuggling into the heat his firm body provided. His fingers weaved into my hair and I felt him crush his lips against several strands.

After a moment of blissful silence, I spoke up again.

'This still doesn't fix anything between us.'

His fingers tightened their hold. 'I'm well aware of that.'

'So,' I whispered, 'what now?'

He knew what I meant. 'We…could try what you mentioned earlier. Finding a compromise.'

'How do we do that?'

'First thing, you need sleep. Right now, you're in no state to make rational decisions. Then when we have time, we will talk.'

'When will that be?'

'Eventually.'

'But _when_?'

' _Eventually_.'

I decided to not push any further. 'Will you stay with me?'

After some deliberation, his chin jerked forward. _Move over_.

I did, making space for him. He lifted the blankets over us and drew me to him again. From his warmth, the drowsiness was becoming impossible to fight.

'How do I know you won't pretend this conversation never happened? You did that the last time I was drunk.' My words were slurring together and my eyes were closed.

He sighed. 'I won't.'

'Promise me.'

The last thing I heard before unconsciousness took me under was his words.

'I promise, Lillian.'

* * *

 ** _Well, that was certainly such a pleasant, light discussion wasn't it? On a less sarcastic note, I found it weird that a majority of the issues from book 4 were never brought up again and fully discussed in book 5. Almost as if someone decided to sweep it all under the rug and pretend that it never happened. Maybe forgot?_**

 ** _Similarly to my other chapter rewrites, I did try to make this chapter parallel the original but added several alterations I feel that give more depth and address the prompt._**


	9. A Rough Workday

**"Anonymous asked:** **A modernised version of storm and silence e.g. Rikkard is a ceo of some company and Lillian's his secretary"**

 ** _Yes, I'm back. After what probably feels like 3423784328 years. In all seriousness, these past 3 months have been really hectic for me. If you follow my tumblr, then you might have noticed that this prompt goes out of order than the prompt order list given on my Tumblr blog. I usually answer prompt requests in the order they're sent to me but I'm doing something a little different now. There's an explanation at the end of the chapter._**

* * *

The air was heavy and musty. Dust permeated the space and clogged her nostrils, almost carrying a distinct scent.

Faint buzzing registered her ears, growing louder as the seconds passed by. The buzzing morphed into voices. Deep, low voices.

She faintly stirred. Well, as much as one could when they were tied to a chair.

"Well, well, well. Look who's finally awake." A mocking voice spoke up.

With considerable effort, she cracked open her eyes. She stared down at her blurred lap. Her vision cleared and her torn skirt came into view, streaked with dust and a questionable white substance.

She slowly straightened her neck and stiff muscles screamed in protest. Definitely a cramp or two. The incessant pounding in her head was impossible to ignore. She winced.

In front of her stood a small group of men, some leering down at her, others looking bored. They were not the friendliest bunch, with their burly demeanours and less-than-welcoming expressions.

Her eyes narrowed as her gaze flitted between them. Confused, she was ready to demand where she was. Glancing around, she saw what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, with light faintly streaming in through the cracked high windows.

"Mmph-mmp-hm?"

Oh. She hadn't realised that she had also been gagged. But now she was keenly aware, the cloth gag bound so tightly it dug into her skin, scraping against her tongue. She could taste cigarettes, sweat and dirt. Focusing all of her energy, she managed to suppress the rising bile in her throat.

With her main way of communication blocked, she used another. She craned her neck, squinting up at the brawny man standing closest to her. She surmised he was the leader of the group, with his infuriating smirk and beady eyes.

"You remember how you got here, girlie?"

She blinked, trying to remember. Then…

 _She had been briskly walking on her way to work. As she had passed an alley, someone yanked her inside. She struggled vainly, her captor too strong and quick. A handkerchief had descended into her vision, a meaty hand pressing it to her face. The next moment, darkness._

She glared at the man, whose smirk had stretched into a menacing smile.

"You're wondering why you're here, aren't you, girlie? Our client said your boss took something from him. So he kindly wanted to return the favour. He _requested_ us to teach your boss a lesson, starting with you, girlie."

This time another set of images materialised.

 _A business stench of cigars. Tension between the two men in the dark bar. Then yelling. The older man's puce face matching his drink. His loud footsteps as he stormed out. But not before a passing furtive glance at her._

Her eyebrows crossed together, conveying her disdain.

"Don't take it personally, girlie. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Blame your boss man for it."

"Mm-mmph!"

"Right, I almost forgot. Hatcher, remove the gag. If she tries to scream, tie it back on." His eyes flashed in warning, never leaving hers.

A short, portly man stepped forward. He tugged roughly at the cloth, the knot embedded into her hair. After a few aggressive pulls, he removed the cloth— as well as a few strands. She refused to flinch, but her tense, scrunched expression gave her away.

As soon as the henchman stepped back, she flexed her jaw, shifting it from side to side. She coughed, hoping to push out the lingering taste of the repulsive cloth. Her teeth bit into her dried tongue and she spat, only relieving some of the odour.

She looked back up at the leader and hoarsely spoke. "What do you hope to achieve?"

"Not much." He grinned, his stained teeth clearly showing that he didn't prioritise oral hygiene. "Just sending a message."

"What message? That both you and your client have a death wish?"

This time, he glared at her. "Watch your words, girlie. Mind your tone too."

"What do you plan to do to me?" She frowned.

 _That's it. Keep him talking_ , she thought. Behind her, her hands began to move slowly, testing the restraining bonds. _Good thing the fool was cheap enough to use duct tape._

"That depends on how you behave, girlie. Cooperate and we'll do the same. Otherwise you'll _regret_ it."

"Your client must be pathetically desperate to hire a group of lowlifes like you." She ground out impulsively.

 _Slap!_

The resounding hit burned across her cheek, the sudden force so swift she heard something crack.

"I said, _cooperate_." The leader snarled out, rubbing at his knuckles as he leaned in inches away from her. His hot, putrid breath fanned across her face. "That was your final warning, girlie."

She scowled and turned her head away, struggling against the rope that tied her torso and arms to the chair.

 _That will definitely leave a bruise_ , she fumed. _At least the bastard didn't tie the rope tight enough. If only I could get to my pocketknife. I'll need a distraction…_

"Boss!" Footsteps echoed as a henchman ran into the dim warehouse. "A guy is outside. He matches our client's description. He demanded that we let her go."

The henchman's chin jerked towards her and she felt relief wash over her. However, she kept her face carefully blank.

"Take him down. I want him here alive. He's in no position to give orders." The leader snarled.

The henchman nodded and ran back out. No less than two minutes later, shouts could be heard from outside.

Then silence.

"Spread out!" The leader barked out. "Half of you outside! The rest of you stay here!"

The group followed his orders, the remaining thugs spreading out around the warehouse's entrance.

"And you, girlie." His beady eyes cut to her. "Don't think I've forgotten about you. You try anything funny and…"

His hand made a slicing motion at his neck.

She said nothing, refusing to cower to his gaze. He finally turned back to face the door but she knew better than to try anything just yet. His eyes may have not been on her, but his ears certainly still were.

Just at that moment, her stomach growled. Loudly. Her ears tinged red but no one seemed to hear. If they did, they certainly didn't care.

 _I shouldn't have skipped breakfast…_

The minutes passed by torturously. A bead of sweat trickled down her neck and her stomach knotted. Partially from hunger and partially from something else.

 _What's taking him so long? He better not have gotten himself hurt…or…or…_

In front of her the leader rolled his shoulders, impatient. Opening his mouth, he was ready to order his men—

 _Tap. Tap. Tap._

Knocking came from the wide entrance doors. It was just three raps. But they were sharp. Clear. Concise.

The henchmen stared at each other, then their leader with widened eyes in panic.

Even he couldn't hide his own with his sharp inhale. Steeling himself, he gritted his teeth and silently signalled for them to surround the door.

She held her breath in anticipation. What was about to happen—

 _Bam!_

The double doors flew open and a figure stumbled forward. The henchmen lept from their hiding positions.

Without further thought, they lunged towards their target. Clubs, wooden planks and bared fists were tools used to express their welcome.

From her position, she couldn't see the person clearly as their face was covered by a ski mask. But she could hear their muffled grunts from the violent onslaught until they finally toppled over. The leader strode closer to the unconscious man on the ground, his attention not on her anymore.

She let out a breath she wasn't aware she had been holding, slumping over in despair.

That is, until one of the henchmen leaned over the fallen person, yanking the ski mask off.

"Gotcha, ya bloody wank— huh?"

"Hey! That's Jack!" Another henchman piped up. Murmurs of confusion spread through the men. "Where'd the bloke go?"

No sooner had the question been voiced did she see another figure _fly_ through the air from the doors. She didn't know how else to describe it as a tall, dark blur whizzed past the corner of her peripheral vision. A wheezing sound escaped the man standing closest to the entrance before he fell over.

Chaos broke out. Shouts escaped the men as they figured they had been deceived. They focused their target on the stranger, who had used their distraction to his advantage, raining blows left and right.

 _There's my distraction_ , she realised. _Go, go, go!_

Taking her chance, she raised her arms behind her as far as she could, the bound rope making it considerably challenging. She wiggled to sit up straighter, bending her elbows. In one motion she pushed her body forward as leverage while her arms straightened back, her trapped wrists pushing out against the duct tape.

She repeated the motion numerous times. With each jerk of her body, the wooden chair wobbled in warning of tipping over. Finally the tape had stretched enough to where she could slip one wrist out. Unfortunately, there was no time to rip it off the other.

Panting, she glanced upwards to see half of the henchmen attempting to circle the newcomer. The other half had joined their fellow fallen comrade. The leader didn't even seem to notice her as his back was to her, shouting out orders frantically.

Wiggling her arm forward, her hand reached into the waistband of her pencil skirt. Her mouth curled into a grim smile when her fingers curled around cold metal.

In a flash, her hand withdrew the object and her arm pushed against the rope, moving back to its original position.

Prying the blade out using her thumb and forefinger, her other hand felt around the rope. Gripping it, she began to saw at it.

 _Faster…faster! Why is this taking forever?_

She turned her head around to see that she had nearly cut through the rope. Her trembling fingers latched onto it even tighter when she saw that only three henchmen were remaining.

Suddenly, the leader turned around and began to head towards her with narrowed eyes.

Instinctively, she knew to drop her hands, maintaining a poker face as he approached.

 _Please don't let him find out._ She internally pleaded.

He didn't seem to notice her progressing escape from her bonds. However, any short sense of relief she might have felt immediately dissipated when he stepped in front of her her, pulling out something shiny.

Also metallic and deadly.

The last henchman was knocked to the ground when the stranger looked up and focused on them both.

"I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this." The barrel of the gun pressed into her temple as the leader turned to face the man. "I have your girlie. Unless you want her pretty little brain splattered all over the ground, you'll do as I say."

The man said nothing, his glance flickering to her.

Surreptitiously, she winked.

 _Trust me_.

He looked back at the leader and gave a curt nod.

The leader grinned back in turn, licking his lips. "I knew you would see sense. Now, my client says he owes you money. But I think it would be a pleasant surprise if you forgot about it. In fact, to apologise for all the trouble you've caused, you decided to give him and me a small _gift_."

The man's eyes narrowed ever so imperceptibly.

The leader continued. "Hand over your wallet."

Silence. She could feel the temperature in the room drop.

"I won't ask nicely again." The barrel of the gun dug into her skin. " _Your wallet_."

Silence. Then…

Slowly _—_ oh so slowly, the man reached into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew a flat, brown object.

"Throw it over here." The leader pointed with his free hand a few meters in front of him. "You stay _right_ where you are."

The man complied. Edging away from her cautiously, the leader switched targets, pointing the pistol at the man. His eyes never left his as he bent down to retrieve the wallet.

Seeing it as her chance, her hand stealthily reached up and cut away the last remaining fibres of rope off her body. She slipped off her heels and soundlessly rose from the chair, silently stalking towards him.

The leader peered into the wallet. "Hey, there's no money here!"

"It's a decoy." She chirped, directly behind him.

He whirled around, gun at the ready, only to be met with a sudden kick to the wrist, knocking it out of his hand.

She found she had underestimated his speed, however. In the next second, something powerful swung and struck her cheek. His fist. She reeled back from the impact, losing balance and crashing headfirst into the floor.

Reflexively, her body tucked and rolled away before she could be on the receiving end for more hits. Hits that never came.

Before she could look, she heard a loud thud, followed by a grunt. The sound of someone colliding into the ground.

Her head whipped towards the action, seeing the leader now entangled in a scuffle with the man. The leader seemed to be on the losing end as he was now bracing himself from a barrage of hits.

She noticed that the gun was merely inches away from them. Unfortunately, the leader seemed to realise this at the same time she did.

No sooner had his hand scrabbled to reach for the firearm that it quickly retreated back to shield his face.

She pushed herself to her feet. Glancing around, she saw the small wooden chair close by and decided to grab it as a weapon.

She looked back just in time to see that the leader was retaliating after landing a sharp punch to the man's abdomen, allowing an opening.

Her heart hammered as she sensed what would happen next. Her feet began to run, dragging the chair behind her as the leader shoved the man off of him and rolled away towards the gun.

Blood rushed in her ears and time came to a slow. Her hands automatically lifted the chair into the air as she sprinted. The leader's hand lunged for the weapon, grabbing it. Her fingers let go of the chair at the same time his fingers curled around the handle, ready to—

 _Wham!_

The wooden chair smashed into him at full force. It broke from the impact as it collided at multiple areas. One of the chair's legs slammed into his head and he slumped, unconscious. His index finger slacked its hold from the pistol's trigger.

The only sound in the warehouse was the heavy breathing from the two conscious people. For a long moment, neither dared to speak. They stared at the entire scene, then at each other.

Finally…

"Good morning, Mr Ambrose."

He blinked. "It is currently afternoon, Miss Linton."

"Oh, is it?" She glanced upward at the gloomy sky reflected in the high windows, then shrugged. "Technicalities."

She ripped off the broken duct tape dangling from her wrist and stretched, rubbing the stiffness out of her shoulders. She looked up at her boss and smiled. It quickly turned into a grimace however, as her cheek stung. She winced.

He was in front of her within a flash. She hardly had any time to blink as his fingers grasped her chin, gently tilting her face up towards his. He brushed away the hair covering her cheek.

"That will bruise." He remarked, appraising the damage on her face from the earlier blow. "I didn't realise you were hit that hard."

"Well, he did hit me twice." She frowned.

" _Twice_?" His voice dropped to a dangerously low octave. She gulped.

"I was being extra mouthy earlier," she admitted.

"Miss Linton," His voice was laced with frost. "Do have more concern for your safety. Now I have to take…additional measures to ensure it."

"I'm not a small girl," she protested adamantly. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"I'm sure you are." His gaze focused downwards as he grabbed her hand.

"Hey! What—"

"Quiet."

Turning over her hand, he pressed the tips of his index and middle finger to her wrist. Realising he was checking her pulse, she steadied her breathing. In through the nose and out through the mouth.

He let go of her wrist after several seconds and held a finger in front of her face. It moved side to side multiple times and her eyes automatically followed the motion, darting left and right. Then up and down next.

Afterwards, his hands reached up and wove into her hair, long fingers massaging along her scalp.

"They didn't hit me anywhere else, you know." She said after a few seconds. "There aren't any injuries on my head."

"I'll confirm that for myself. Someone has to take your health seriously since you won't."

She was about to protest when she saw the look in his eyes. Grabbing her shoulders, he pulled her to him. Whatever thought she had was wiped blank as she was clutched in a tight grip.

"What were you thinking, Miss Linton?" His cool breath brushed along the shell of her ear. "Trying to take on a thug like that when he had a gun? You could have gotten killed!"

Her arms wound around his torso. She lifted her head, her chin propped against his chest as she met his blazing gaze. "Yes, but so could have you. You took on all those men on your own!"

His sea-coloured eyes bored into hers, the force behind them taking her breath away. "You expect me to stand idle when I receive a picture of you, unconscious and tied up, from your cell phone?"

"No, but I didn't expect you to come alone."

"The message said to. There was no way I would risk your life otherwise."

Silence. She rested her cheek against the warm comfort of his body. She didn't want to move. She felt safe in his arms. No, more than that. She felt comfortable.

"I didn't know you could fight like that."

"Likewise for you."

"The gym was offering free self-defence classes last summer." She mumbled against his wrinkled dress shirt. "I couldn't pass on the offer."

"Adequate reasoning."

"He mentioned a client." Her chin jerked towards the unconscious figure on the ground. "Was it that aggressive guy from the takeover deal last week?"

"Yes." His voice snapped like a whip. Harsh and stinging. "This will be sorted out. To resort to kidnapping my secretary for blackmail, you can rest assured, Miss Linton, that he will be taken care of _accordingly_."

A shiver ran down her spine but she said nothing.

He pulled away and she felt cold suddenly, the lack of his warmth apparent.

"Here." He held out something to her.

"Huh?" She glanced down and saw the sleek item in his palm. "Where did you find this?"

"One of the men had it."

"Oh." She took her cell phone gingerly. "Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome." He turned for the exit. "Let's go, Miss Linton. Back to work. There's no time to waste."

"Ah yes." She walked over to her shoes and slipped her feet into them. "But there's still one thing."

He stopped, mid-stride. He slowly turned to face her.

"Yes?"

"Can we get something to eat first?"

* * *

 _ **I hope this prompt was more…unique and interesting to read for a modern day prompt. Probably not the first thing that pops into one's mind when they think of a modern-day version of SnS. Well, I suppose my mind is an exception to that. Also, my apologies for the delay in updates. Honestly speaking, I have no idea when the next update will be.**_

 ** _Regarding the new thing I'm doing with the prompts that I mentioned at the beginning of the chapter, I was taking prompt requests from my Tumblr— which by the way is closed now, I'm not taking any more requests now that I've hit a total of 20 requests. Anyway, I was answering prompts in the order that people sent them to me but since some people's prompts are longer/take place in different time periods, they will take me longer to write. I didn't want to leave people hanging so in the meanwhile, I thought I can complete the ones that are easier for me to write. Otherwise, I would have probably given up on updating this book altogether, to be honest. No worries though, I do plan to go back and complete the prompts I've skipped...eventually._**


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